Night sounds whisper in my ears.
They tell me grave-yard stories of people
buried deep in punt-trenches. Howling dogs
mutilate the darkness.
Tonight xenophobia lingers in the air.
Death with fragile bones
stir flame between man and beast.
They say someone will die tonight.
If you stand on their grave. Me, too.
I am Life making mockery and mirth.
How can Death pierce the cold silence
with sepulchral sounds
and somber shadows
of quiet footprints
imprisoned in fortitude?
Death has a friend in Life.
Life has a friend in Death.
But the twain shall never meet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem