A port city
Its’ glory now engraved in history
Struggles to provide the few
Once glorified by vessels
A deserted township
Its’ hopes now dashed
Tainted walls and dead streets
Evidence of the past
A child cycles in solitude
His frolics amidst a ghastly township
Rust smeared feet and wheels
While mother is at her chores
Machines hum from the old port
Filling the mid-morning ambience
As the lonely boy pedals up-street
The port lives amidst its death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A well written poem that is communicating with readers. I am hoping that Maha will be the 'voice' of his generation. Well done my friend. :)