Savouring your poems
is like eating icecream with shrapnel,
and screaming as you die deliciously,
wondering not caring how you arrived,
agonized but detached,
yearning for honey
without the pollen of distress.
Touching your writings
is like echoes of distant pain
esconsed in chapters of past wastage
thought erudite then gossamer thin
seeing the heart pulped to a mess.
Tasting your words
brings hope to my life
through inversion of what's said
Seeing through the cracks
past carnage of broken dreams
to gold, pure joy,
trapped beyond millieu of stress
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This one already carries such a good comments that i'm running out of space.. Let me vote..... hey, i guess there's a bit problem with the page. A zero is missing from the 10..