So much for an ardent
preacher-man,
avail me this hour;
let me speak and then hold my peace.
clogged under the censored beam
of an imperious anchor-man,
baited by the scorching
of a bigoted reciter...
Oh! Preacher-man,
tell me what you see;
the wheels are rolling,
the walls are crumbling,
your victory is nigh.
Alas! you have rifled smiles
from innocent faces,
you ripped lives guilty of no blames;
the wars you won, you alone had fought...
So long for an ardent
preacher-man,
turn around and see;
the world is where you wanted,
panned away behind the seamless clouds;
tucked deeply beneath the arid lands,
you would have no reason to ail;
her inhabitants howls without their voices...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem