he lay there
under the sun
dried blood on his lips.
the heat was oppressive.
his clothes were dusty,
dark blotches on them.
i could see the ants
moving,
entering him
and
exiting him.
how i hate this place!
how i hate the people
who are responsible
for all this unbelievable madness.
how i hate myself
for volunteering to be here!
i watched the ants crawling
over the body.
i wanted to hate them too!
but,
they didn't know
and
the hating
had to stop somewhere.
5-15-1968
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem