I lie here now, what do I feel?
Shards of iron and of steel.
Torturer’s whip is overbearing
The secret’s mine so I am bearing
Forsaken pain, my flesh is tearing.
And now the whip is oh so tired
The man who coin had surely hired
Has given up, relent, retired.
For his crimes now must be paid
And by my craft he’s been dismayed
Of his skin he’s been flayed.
Now from my cell I do wander
And my capture I now ponder.
Who’d seen my craft and turned me in?
Why is magic now a sin?
Black and White, now both are slain,
By the Christians’ great disdain
They hated all that eased the pain
More so than their god’s great reign.
Magic they seek to destroy
So that they can employ
Their brand of comfort for man and boy
My craft now I cannot teach
Lest the Christians ears it reach
That magic still survives.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem