A sudden shock,
when a snakeskin starts moving.
Behind the shut doors
a conspiracy was hatched.
Son of the moon―
wriggles on palms. Sneaks
a glance at the diving sun.
Cut and glued, a mourning looks
in the eyes of a Titan.
The anarchy raises its head.
The make-up cannot be
taken off. It will expose
the artless faces.
When eyelids flutter
of a fallen angel, you think
it was an imperial command.
A pause in pain.
You float on ice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The anarchy raises it's head The make-up can not be taken off. It will expose the artless faces. Thanks for sharing.10 points. Regards.