A cold dark village,
of no well known faces.
A moon-lit street,
and deep puddles of black.
There's toddlers crying,
their mothers are screaming.
Their fathers are leaving,
he's not coming back.
You can't make out the world,
through tear-filled eyes.
So you slip in a corner.
You hide.
Now in shadow you lie,
ignoring the cries,
wiping the tears,
avoiding the pain.
Vertigo takes you,
the whole world starts spinning.
day after day.
Until what's bad in the world,
has faded away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Michael, that is very interesting I like it. I didn't think the puddles should be red though, it got me thinking along the tracks of genecide and slaughter but I ended up with broken marriages, fathers leaving wives and sons and daughters?