at noon the sky is seamless blue
but close at hand a storm conspires
and this is not a tropic storm
it rages in the heart of man
the clouds will soon converge
and hot and cold shall meet
and hate and love will then contest
their meeting in the street
the sky grows dark and blood will flow
no peace on earth today
when gods and frightened men concede
and look the other way
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Another gem from your poetic pen. A10