an original poem written in response to the Poet to Poet Translation project

A man with a fiddle plays a slow air
underneath a pillar.
It’s bloody hot!

On the other side is a black & white image
of this man in the street, blurred,
and he weeps as people push by.

In the middle distance
is a silver steeple
or minaret.

An old man appears from nowhere
with a brush and, without a word,
he sweeps the lot away.