i
he turns into a frog that night
when his wife kissed him on his lips
ii
the curse goes on until his paramour
kisses his navel
and swears that she loves him
(not his money)
iii
his pocket is emaciated like a
malnourished African child
that worst drought in the history
of the desert
iv
if he strips himself of all his skin
an expose himself candidly to the sun of truth
bare and naked
he becomes a king again
in the castle of his dreams
v
meanwhile sleep takes him
death sits beside him with a lasting reminder
'thou must be pure'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I really, really like it....although no one is really pure..at least not in the end