Classic Poem

The street is congested with foreign languages
hard on the ear
Has he taken a wrong turn and arrived at Babylon?
Understanding nothing, his steps are painful
as salt in a wound
He is afraid even of himself
Am I really walking in the streets
without a policeman?
Advancing gradually as an ant hauling a grain of corn
his feet stutter
A truck could run over him!
How comic death by truck would be
after five years of darkness!