Shifting upon the banks of a holy river...
Drenched in numerous funeral fires nearby,
Shrivels of
Burning flesh and bones
Of believers, Of course!
Watchful of the masquerading flies,
Those born and bread in this holiness
Is making me philosophical,
And Worried,
About the stark colorless death
Of an atheist!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem