Crushing the tangerines,
escalating the dissent
of lean eyes
for a slaughter in the trench.
Unadorned, the little soft
hole, I watch
display of hair,
teeth and shoes.
Who had conceived
the invasion?
Time clock, you need
a prosthesis to move.
Dehumanize the littered
street. This has become the empire
of death. No crying would
be allowed under the feet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A sad and powerful piece of prose that needs to be absorbed, and read over and over. Regards. Craig.