Streets full of office blocks have a greyish hue
where they rise against the cobalt blue,
in the distance it seems as if the factories do burn down
where with smoking stacks they fill the town
but if you take a closer look that is true,
there are steam rising and pipes that flame bright
while the poison that pollute is out of sight
and when alarms ring I wonder what to do,
where they rise against the cobalt blue.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem