The winking wake of my fake,
As the inevitable Nature-calls,
And mending the ravages,
Of my acting knave and hero,
And my show for no trauma,
Dig the grave of my corpse.
I hang my degree and tricks,
I advertise my contrived countenance,
And engage agents, and arrange bribe,
Mine is a nowhere, and no where it would be,
And yet the confused compulsion threatens me,
What else but nasty garbage my van were,
Had not I had the passing Divine here,
And His occasional touch in this horrible drama.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem