When laughter comes between
the red gums of drought,
there's fire.
It smoulders consciences and
begrudges sempervirence amid
scorching petals of ancestry.
In this, heathens thrive eloquently,
increasing their laughter in the faces
of apostates
whose prayers dampen,
whose manners become unmethodical,
whose frantic cries bring forth froth
from mouths that spurt Halleluiah.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
laughter in the faces, good writing, thanks.