FISH BONE
In the middle of a meal
As tempting as Nebuchadnezzar’s table
She feasted fiercely
Without noticing the protruding bone,
in the fish she churns
Alas a cry
For help,
Creating a sore in the throat
Neither water nor food
Shall find its way down
For her system disrupted
Like our system of governance
She must be treated
For their to be an improvement
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is well made... 10.... Tsira