My crying was a demanded act,
I needed an escape into oblivion;
But would they hear the silent rope
Flowing in the cosmos of worry?
My cloak and dagger was there,
It was my program on the run;
I lifted the lips of my mouth to hunger
And thirst, to smell and burn
Into a charred cadaver too brightening.
I needed to cry before I died,
The spirit below was the spiritual master;
He or she was blessed and divine,
My cloak and dagger had chanced
An entry into the unknown.
Where is my crying now that you’ve
Succumbed to the rampage and drift?
The tears are overflowing like the wind
In the atmosphere of the world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem