London Poem by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
London
London,
a great house standing by
a long water,
bathed by a golden sun
behind the closed doors
of the eastern clouds
that send stuttering rains
even on the hearth of summer
to salute all that pass
the kennels of the
city once they have legitimate
travel passes that will elevate
them high enough to see
the Big Ben -
a timely invention
chiming and tolling,
to remind us of our
immigrating hearts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 11:03:16 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Yes, the immigrating hearts…though feeling the golden sun, they are drenched in the stuttering rain, coming from the eastern clouds. Such clouds do not promise any good. This is another sensitive perception of what it could mean to be an immigrant..Big Ben is chiming for all in London and “To whom the Bell tolls” has different meanings for each soul…