bells ringing...
thousands and thousands
of bells.... ringing....
the chorus of crows,
the sound of the whip
cracking on thousands
of backs, , ,
black and white,
brown and red....
the fat-bellied ticket taker
stands with hand outstretched...
cant pay the fare... cant ride....
left standing on the corner
of lost, and nameless.
marching to death, leaving
no trace, no footprints....
the bastard children of freedom,
no home to return to....
look up, look up!
the skies full of wings!
bells are ringing!
thousands and thousands
of bells... and each one
has a name!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem