Those were the nights and different days
Of blue green polyester cloths
That didn’t mind the rain and sun
On windowsills of broken wood.
Those were the nights and different days
We walked in empty, desolate streets
Dark cruel pavement echoed fear
At three a.m., or was it four?
Those were the nights and different days
When laughter stolen from the thief
Of open hearts and kindest eyes
Rang secretly in unkempt rooms.
Those were the nights and different days
When sorrow was as near as air
A constant neighbor never shunned
No fire exit or escape.
Those were the nights and different days
Life’s sword slashed justice to the bone
As anguish pierced a sky so cold
Bruised human cries fell to the ground.
Those were the nights and different days
The axe of fate slit tender reeds
And brutal men compounded shame
By drawing blood from open wounds.
Those were the nights and different days
Abomination was fulfilled
As bodies pale in twisted ways
Were left to barely breathe at will.
Those were the nights and different days
Of blue green polyester cloths
That didn’t mind the rain and sun
On windowsills of broken wood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'Life's sword slashed justice to the bone', 'drawing blood from open wounds', so heart wrenching, so heart felt, excellent!