Father was a tiger
Ground beneath the wheels
His fat was burned to light a torch
But there's no liberty here
Only the ashes of the village
That couldn't evolve
Where ghost grandchildren play with ghost grandparents
And the parents are nowhere to be seen at all.
Where have they gone? Where have they gone?
A delay of a day for an idea, a delay of a lifetime
for the dead upon the ground.
Look, what remains-
This hut hasn't the ambition of Ozymandias
These craters were once a rice field
This ox was no man's enemy
And what we have left to say could explode any minute.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem