Unless I see sense, I'd reap double
Blues and queues of zeroes
Stashed to rouse rows of rabble
That let down two trusted heroes.
Unless I fly, I'd go astray
Today and tomorrow
And fail to return the tray
Of clues of blues to the first row.
Unless chance smiles back at me
Once more, pain would creep on
My bed to feed a sea
Where sadness would chew a bone.
Unless blessings visit my life
Soon, the moon would croon a sad
Song a million times for a wife
Gone too clean to buy a mad ad.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem