When time of penance is nigh,
So does shadows fades in the night.
When devils seeks the light,
All deeds they done of the most high.
In frail voices, angels would mark,
A gospel brought forth as a slayer.
A son...Her son...
The son of men went to perish on a cross.
When god with his accomplice the devil toasted and rejoiced,
The mark of the lost bruised out from her body.
The rich crimson water trickled down from her head,
Embossed by faint lost lives of Amen.
Right around her bosoms,
The thing of horror they painted.
About her abdomen,
Mobile hieroglyphs,
highlights the sin of the day.
Around her protruding thick hips,
Lay a flimsy skin of her dim destiny.
While about her genitalia,
Barren, dry and untouched,
Where the "spirit" stylus of god shall pears.
By Ofentse Hajane
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem