Deserts shall not have a foliage by mild showers.
Gods let rain fall on them who may bloom flowers.
But mine shall always be a crimson, blood-drenched hand
For my fate not lies in garlands, not desert sands.
Oh! My ecstasy has been murdered and devoured upon,
So I shall reside in the ravages of ghastly haunts.
How do I address the predators of my own bliss?
As the devils, or the angels, or the darkeners of my blue lips
Makers of this sanctity-devoid soul
Or the residents of the shadows of my own world
Imparters of torment, turbulence and terror,
Consumers of ceremonial chaos and care
Recruiters of thy barbarous messengers,
Thou are reminders of my sinful dares.
Inducers of unpleasant relapse
Thieves of the desired comrades
Oh thou! The master of all the odium!
Why did you come in my mausoleum?
Thou shall be greeted with no altruism
For thou vandalized my heart’s province
But I pray thou prevail, you are, since
The Devourers of Ecstasy.