not my photo…
Translated…
Each and Every Time that One or Two
Kites Started Off from the Horizons
My Heart Takes Flight, as if
Someone is, Having a Conversation with the Spirits
As if, This City is Not at War
The Wind, the Clouds, as Well as the Birds, All Held Down on Their Weapons and Ammunitions
As if, They’re All, Fast Asleep
But, it Doesn’t Go Like This Every Single Day
Every Now and Then, You’ll Hear that Cries from the Alarms
That will, Turn ALL the Auditory Nerves Upside Down and Inside Out
That was, the Ambulance, Passing by
Reminding me, that There are, So Many More Who are Among
The Less Fortunate
As I’d Made Way for the Ambulances to Pass, Parked by the Streets
I’d, Said a Silent Prayer for the Person Inside the Ambulance
Hoped, that the Doctors, the Nurses Who Waited for His Arrival to be
Gentle and Kind, and the Prayers of the Loved Ones are
Taken Note of, and Heard, by the Holy Spirits
Who, Never Flew a Kite as a Child
Who, Can be Absolutely Certain, that
The One Lying Inside the Ambulances isn’t Someone Else
But Oneself, One Day, Needing Others, to Make Way
So, from this, you can see, how fragile life really is, and, there’s that parallel between the kites and the ambulances, the kites are flying free and high up in the skies, so leisurely, and, contrasting to that would be the ambulances here, on the ground, with the sirens so loud, rushing the patients to the hospitals, there’s this, sharp contrast that the poet is making here.
not my photo…
Life, the Obstacle Course 