Old Man in Grozny
The old man crouches by the fire
Composed of bits of wood,
Gathered from the battered square,
The shattered neighborhood;
The apartments stand,
Their concrete ripped
Like gutted rotten teeth;
Now a home to the wind,
To the sparrow and the thief;
The old man huddles by the fire
And sucks his cigarette,
Grizzled and beyond repair
With Winter coming yet;
All about him lays debris,
Rubble in the cold;
Someone thought to go war;
Not a good time to be old.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
all about lays debris. thanks.