You
do not
want to be
here among them
they are part of these bedrock make-shift tents.
Their dreams are torn just like their tattered clothes
always hungry
wish for food
to eat
now.
They
are ghosts
of the night
fearful to cry
no one can listen to silent voices.
Across the horizon music playing
people dancing
shameful joy
voodoo
song.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem