Last night,
Frescoes on night's sable wall dimmed.
I beheld a burning market.
Empty of wares, languages of sorrow
Grew on the tallow of roasted beef.
And the wax of living bread melted...
Across the gaudy pile of women's lair,
Incidents of darkness held court.
Madmen singing isolated hymns,
Dangled bits of death framed in blood,
Dripping gently from the severed tongues of beasts.
From the aching sights of horror,
Last night posted the wailing signs of
Hastened pogrom;
Puking waning signs of unity,
The wreck at sea's party
Ruins every geographical equilibrium.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
your use of languague is thrilling... i am inspired