Having a vivid imagination
Can be extremely harrowing
I’ve been exiled from my Country
for having taken a stand against
it’s repressive regime
My husband works for it’s Army
and, would have been hung as a traitor
had he tried to leave with me
So, every night I have to resort to
phoning him up
When I think he’s free to talk to me
Once in a while there’s no reply
That’s when my imagination runs riot
I picture him lying dead on the ground
A bullet through his head
while the mobile is found
ringing incessantly
beside him
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem