We used to sit around,
You and I,
And you would sing about the angels,
and cry about the demons.
What demons? I would ask,
In my naivety,
You never knew,
You just said they walked on our left,
Mimicking our footsteps.
What angels? I would ask,
In my curiosity,
Once again you wouldn't know,
You would say they were on our right,
Watching.
You would tell me the world worked in lines,
Like a line between an angel and a demon,
or a dictator and a civilian,
a victim and a murderer,
The world worked in tangents and rays,
Separating morality,
Setting up our divisions,
of righteousness and corruption,
Light and Dark,
Good and Evil.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem