They used to attack
at dawn
when the dirt of light
is still dark
the air assuming
a nebulizing
calm
the agony almost
a memory
coughing
heaving
wheezing
gasping for blasted breath
ignored and accepted
the hours dwindling
while the white man
and the black bag
and the panacea
prepare.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem