She was walking naked
On the river bank
And in her hand holds the revenge dagger for honor
Ah! If she knows
How this dagger screams?
In her pregnant hand with ignominy
But what is the avail of that?
Dagger stays a dagger
Dagger is the color of blood
In her handgrip
Becomes a rose
Dagger becomes a greater saint
My lady
Don’t care
Life is naked trees
And naked mountains
And naked tears
And naked hearts
In a naked night
But are there dumb eyes?
Are there blind feelings?
Are there deaf birds?
And is there an Honorable dagger?
Revenge for a prostitute devil…
Good poem. Like it, really good write. May i invite you to read my poem called, Shadows of the past.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely piece of poetry, well articulated, nicely encapsulated, and penned in poetic diction. Indeed, dagger is the colour of blood. I concur with your conviction. Thanks for sharing. Please read my poem MANDELA - THE IMMORTAL ICON.