An autopsy was being conducted
with brutality
to silence the rising dialogue,
pulling out the lethal crunch
of scripted history.
You want the kiss of a parting grain.
A secondhand face crops
up in a newspaper. Are you ashamed
of curtains? They have covered
all the skeletons. The tangerines,
why do I remember them
like juicy lips in dark.
We are going to bungle together,
decked up to receive the body
of a honed player.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Liked it. Enjoyed reading it. A really fantastic write. May i invite you to read my new poem called, War With No Morals.