Admit your heart, your pain. Fault is feared when secrets feed fire. You know your mistakes. You know you’re wrong but whose heart is shot at? Not yours, no for you are the one who aims the arrow of blame. You chose the bow of contempt. And why, I say, do you fear the waters of fault when the fires of blame are your bane. You notched the first and you shot the last. Death be the consequence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem