(Get this right; an ethical trap,
a body count; working title..Lost Children) .
So it all goes to hell; a ring of heavy men
at a microphone; the same film; the next mouthing,
then teddies in rain.
(Macbeth knew it; there are only victims) .
And a savage god that asks for much
a morning smashed
a paper torn
a chain broken.
(we are absent; we look)
And in a dust land a mother`s face
turns to water; a stranger,
a little cake turned bitter.
(we are all lost, understanding is smoke) .
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the poem is complex, it looks like a drama staged about the generation lost with bleakness around, hopes gone and understanding smoke...poet's notes do not completely contextualize the idea but...in the existing scenario, yes, tragedy is never simple, life is complex too...! ! !