Those who crow with traded voice
Like fluttering bats that fill the ether,
Hear them spew their fractured choice,
Mad diphthongs screaming for a metre;
When, if ever, they cease their noise,
Shadows enclose a message bleaker;
A tortured litany, even hounds on earth,
Escape to free themselves at birth.
A year a decade, five score and ten,
Would not suffice to cleanse the mire,
Of cronied deeds, that often then,
Erupt like pus, filled on necrotic fire,
With sounds now louder than a drum,
Effusing into putrified desire,
A venemous claw that rips into the hide,
Turns into nuptials with a withered bride.
Men will scale peaks to escape this purge,
Navigate wild rivers to find a sense;
Within, feel their own blood surge,
Believing that Man's mind is so intense,
They cannot understand the urge,
To desire a lesser recompense;
Knowing the only way to be,
Is when all Mankind is free.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem