Into a house
Transformed in to a gnome
The people
Go about in silence locked
Speak not
One syllable:
Looks black
Look black and menacing:
Sometimes
Rare times
They their pinions clutch
In to a muscle snowball
Look
As they pass here and
There
Look black un to each other
Speak not
And time passes
Passes slow
In to this slow methodology
Of excruciating martyrdom
Without dropping of blood
Without cries of pain
Save for hearts crying
In green all hardening
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem