Oh thy words art cold as Winter's smile which graces upon thy lips,
And even though mine blood 'tis not pure mine heart ‘tis a willing avatar-
To see, to learn, to stretch these wings out of the furrow of thine eye.
To simply be, what I am.
-Hanyou, child, and man.
Thoust speaks of heritage and blemishes upon thine honor,
But wherefore am I in this?
Shall I feel shame for being different-
Canst thou renounce the erstwhile calling of lucre Nikes?
That like a ship set ashore went perambulating.
O what am I to thee, to the colossal view of Atlas?
Am I thou obligation, a duty- barren seed occult?
Art thou mine brother, fraternal ties doth hold?
O Dolorous recantation!
Canst thou be mine renunciation to these jagged wounds I bear?
For I was smite by fate on the eve ‘twas born-
To bear this stain of mine displeasure,
This mark against mine nature.
Doth Cupid in winged sallies not find it quaint,
To prick me with his arrow of love?
Am I not worthy?
Shall I not love nor find in Aphrodite’s warm caresses,
The gentle minx which brews?
Am I to be alone?
Desolate and cast astray?
Why canst thou love me?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem