Will I write about heroic deeds?
When the sun daily struggles through the clouds of mist,
will I look between kaki-weeds, beer bottles for meaning
if the reports of damage, of evil things
are incessant disguised in cloaks
where the country is full of gangsters,
people stand and pee on street corners against walls,
life is webbed like gossamer
where evil creatures sit and wait on a moment
to suddenly attack
and evil is breeding out everywhere?
Will I write about what I see and how ghastly
weeds are filling the country,
or will I just shut up, be silent about that which exterminates us?
[Reference: Sal ek? (Will I?) by Ian Raper.]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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