Death hangs
on the poles
at our bank.
A Chinese
fishing net
sinks down
with baits
to lure into
the fate.
Doom lurks
between the
darkness and
the blue.
Joys dry in the
breathless net
at dawn. As
care snoozes,
snare catches.
First printed in The Literary Hatchet
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful Poetry! Pls check mine: -)