It’s not the smell of silicon
Or greenies on the floor,
Bottle tops and wrappers,
Discarded cigs and more.
It’s not graffiti sprayed around,
Love hearts and misspellings.
The many foul mouthed cursings
Reflections of most dwellings.
It’s not the quotas of the job
Or depending for a living,
On misdirected energies
Preferring taking to giving.
It’s not replacing glass
For tougher stuff..again,
Or litter bins as Molotov's
While claiming acumen.
What I find so displeasing
Is; The ones who feed
The spirit behind the mind
Behind the deed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem