Light torn.
What a pity!
Can recall the great grandfather
Handed over me a needle in the morning hour
Just after a few days I born.
I lost it in a heap of straw when grown
Light torn.
Ah me! fie! for shame!
O Needle come back.
No more She could maintain Her honour.
Her divinity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
No one now is a prophet in their own country here they are locked up put on mind altering anti psychotics or brutally killed by our own law enforcement.. Sometimes I think that.. oil Good write my Friend.
Thank you my dear poet. You are always welcome on my pages.