curtains of mists stalk cobbled lanes
at midnights stroke, when strange tides roam
down winding ruins of cutthroat alleys
strong feral tombs of brick and mortar
where fowl airs congeal miasmas
in thick cloaks of Sulphur oxides
there's no mirage of hope sweet refuge
Inside Jade Talons of the Night
and plagues of ghosts, haunt narrow streets
where silence is its own empire
only mumblings of mice on moss
and sewage stench from iron grates
know man treads but thieves and rogues
and strangers from far lands unknown
walk blindly in the dragons church
Prayers to the talons of the Night
Gaslights glow with yellow shadows
burned fumes of spectral effigies
as satin ladies, and guardsmen walk
safely around the faint lights hope
for the city wakes its true self
Neath nights late mass of velvet black
plotters with knives and foreign jacks
worship steal talons of the night
Own empire only has mumbling of mice on moss. This really very thought provoking poem you have shared is amazingly drafted.10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It make me think of a walk through a grave yard at night fascinating and horrific in turn great piece of descriptive writing a tingler of a poem