Suffer vultures to scavenge on your bereft carcass.
Tapering the palsied flesh.
Flapping in a frenzied gorge.
Lone creatures poised in proud plumage.
Their crowns are bald.
They do not strike the core.
The soul soars to celestial plains.
All that remains are rotted entrails.
Let vultures feed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem