Lost In Translation Poem by Prince Kenny Osei

Nannies who care for the young:
Most likely have no children or
perhaps they do
but passion is what drives them into
this honourable profession
The golden reign of a king: who thrives
without reluctant feet,
abate the concerns of the people,
may end up as the foe of this
surburban, our community
With shinningness across the east
a bar in the back
and a piecemeal to divide:
told in words by my grandmother
Thursdays like to come as a hither
and thither stirred through a terrific
dither
but still the ghost letters in pencil seem
to be synonymous with what really
happened, or perhaps were the
discarnate minds lost in their
meditative silence as they witnessed
the mists of the dawns in those
battles?
'A parody of singlemindedness'
deepened in bold Italics,
bright as snowcrust in the thirteenth
chapter, paragraph four, line eight
might further explain this mystery
assessment, just as I chanced upon,
yet no obvious account
The elders of Colonus
And the old men of Thebes could judge
such umbrageous trail in such a glacial
time without third-conscience
Nannies could have told these words
in gentlest tones what really
transpired, had they been there...
Perhaps they were..
My grandmother said to me, 'in that
century, kerchieves of linen were as
common as the skies above us and the
only attuned myth was that the fields
were always greener at the other side
of the fence
But I noted that day, as she told me this
very history in parables, nostalgic tone
of remembrance was that
when the last tree dies, the last man
dies
The almost fully gracious reigns of
these present kings then seemed never
to rival what my grandmother &
nanny saw as the clock persisted
And the sort of blizzard that strikes my
bloodstream when I saw once again
that deepened bold Italic inscription in
chapter twelve, paragraph two, line
one
I was sure that the writers were
certainly lost in translation