Rough around the edges
The linen like paper
Smeared in his stained fingerprint
Soon to evaporate
The bittersweet scent
Of liquorish.
30 years on
The Rizzla remains to be
The simplicity of his life
Detached from the reality
Distracting him of the potency
Of his liquorish on
The innocence around him.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem