In the sullen creases of his face, a new world was exposed.
A bleak future is apparent in his dull, black eyes
Depression. Such a fiend
Infer that no good comes from it and implore for the pain to go away
Rueful of all the injustice, the man is gorged with anger and revenge
He eluded the reformatory, through luck
He released pain through a brown bottle
He’s indignant and relinquishes hope with a flick of his wrist
The gates of heaven will not open for him
So he makes his own heaven in New York
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem