metal sticks and sacks are held
scrounging for something worth
amidst the stench and smoke
emanating in the air
with a beaten face
burned by the blazing sun
joining other zombies
where flesh hanging from the jaws
an ocean of rusty needles and broken bottles
ripping through emaciated arms
a gold is found deep there
coated with fresh maggots
all day throughout the night
going on non-stop
with metal monsters and rotten smell
are best companions
when will this end?
if mountains upon mountains
completely envelops
your burning world
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem