I.
A candle that lights the perverse,
And the polarities that are stuck in reverse
Are but allegories of a dauntless history,
Whereas the lion wrote everything,
In the defeat of a hunter’s motive.
II.
Chandeliers and streetlamps cringe
As the surreal wind embellishes the Sun
Greater than the lights and city buoy
Are we who we are?
We scavenge for light, the light that we usurp.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem