When a car hits a man
and is flown away,
I witness as a tree,
victim's day is a turbulent sea but mine- a ditch.
When gunmen cause mass massacre,
there's blast, smoke blood and wailing.
I live as a gecko in closed door flat,
my conscience rests as window pane.
Hospitals need blood, I'm busy with me
church needs repair, I'm blind.
When my turn comes to bear a pain
I expect the world by me.
13th Oct 2016
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What a wonderful poem really captures such thoughts
Thank you for the encouraging comment.
the encouraging comment.