Refrigerator
Then we had nothing like
What we have in our house
Then land was our parents
Dad and mom…
In the midst of winter…
The beetroots were fresh
And the same with carrots
Dad dug part of the land
Like grave, not exact
We buried all the roots
Then in ice and snow
We lifted part of face
Removed, used and again
Land remained the virgin
Used as farm for summer
Now you dig and get oil
Crack, make kind of foam
And use gas, chemicals
"It is to preserve…"
You kill land…
I am ashamed…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem