They scar the country with prejudice not paradise
oblivious to the currents that lights the evening skies
Stone monuments sometimes of steel
cold and perverse they clime and steal the very light of day
The dandelions they claim the prize that line the street
and gutter ways—the cement fields of want and play
Bricks of orange and of red consort with peeling wood
that's dead—a haven for the pest that stay
and share this metropolitan today
and in convenience vibrato do we hear
the noise that's softly playing in our structured ears
monoliths that pierce the skies with their heads
they sigh and cry—peering through the hazy fog
that won't hide them not at all
and discipline is out of line corrupting the senses
of the mind—making us wish that there was time
to move away from here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem