Bundle-less sights
Of unholy grittons.
Stacked on dumbfounded rafts.
Drifted to coast.
Ironic municipals
And dumbfounded grinning of teeth.
With darkened faces
And streamlined orients
Sudden allegretto of legs
And pleasant smell of sweet rains.
Kwashiokor rains in precision.
And variations of mild cloudy heavens.
Let them say I am dead.
For I was,
I am!
And would be!
If the world doesn't find me a cure
To this love, in me yet untold.
To the painful sorrow I've been sold
For God is mean and not nice.
And I am dead!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem