Locked in the folds of tenuous breaths
Life stutters on the path of confused dreams
Suffer I alone bereft of a star
Waiting to be picked up from eddies of needs and surly whims
The stalk that once held the flowers
Stands askance sniffling as a morbid straw
Lifting a tendril in a bid to save my head
I walk on to the land wherefrom I could a little sustenance draw
Treading through curses and blames thousands
I had a hope that I could reach the crown
In the game my moves get wrong
And the snakes spit venom and gulped me down
Dropped on to the bed with closed fists
Eyes failed to recognize those stood around
Illusion was hidden in the womb of innocence
Else I would not have walked this unholy ground
The fists are open now with distinct lines
No pain as I am accustom to losing the toss
Waiting on the stage for the final act to come
They have words for nails and my heart for the Cross
The fists are open now with distinct lines No pain as I am accustom to losing the toss Waiting on the stage for the final act to come They have words for nails and my heart for the Cross A fine description indeed
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Waiting for the final act, very powerful experience and expression