I trace the path of murder, reclaiming
the blood stains
on grass. Becoming a stranger
in my own land.
Stranger? Yes.
Lead name missing.
Always wanted
less than enough.
I bare my chest
scrawling a blue butterfly trying to
unwrap the colour.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wanted..The real democracy.! the ancient civilization is not yet matured enough to have the blue butterfly! Nice poem!