A work weary father smiles
waiting for a train-
kicking away coldness
with warm thoughts of love.
Split second later
side searing pain
skin separated by the cool,
indifferent, reflecting blade.
Blood flows and spills-
filling the cold concrete cracks.
His eyes resisting silent dark
view becoming confusing.
His two children kiss mother goodnight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Vince, while such acts of cold-blooded violence stopped shocking me several years ago, they never cease to disgust me. As if such heinous individuals don't realise just what far-reaching impact their actions are likely to have, a message that you condense so neatly into the finish here. Your succinct descriptions and metaphors here ('kicks away coldness with warm thoughts of love', 'the cool, indifferent, reflecting blade', [telling contrast between 'warm' and 'cool' also to be noted]) , are truly high-impact. Definitely a case of 'the less you write, the more you tell.' And I've just seen your very stimulating debate-sparker in the forum (and again, I love your expression: 'the fast-food of poetry') . If you want a response from me, visit Wendy Mooney's words. Mine would be the same. With warmth as ever, Gina.