I saw death,
but she did not come
to visit me.
She almost brushed
against me
and passed me by.
My comrade cried out
and for a moment
he was still with me.
She took him
in her arms and he was gone
while the war raged on.
When in the dark of night
I hear a mother crying,
a chill passes through me.
At times she walks the streets
and Aids and drugs,
bring strings of people to her.
When I drive to places,
I see people meeting her
on the highways.
At a friends bed in the hospital
I saw her again
and still she did not glance at me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem