Look, a man with blue eyes,
Bright and beautiful,
Tattered in his nakedness,
Fetal skin and writhing bones,
Spine upturned and bent-
Rasps for breath.
His holed fabrics
Caress his boned stature,
His bumpy, wrinkled,
worn and broken bruises
Litter the corner of Times Square.
He stretches out his eyes
for the world to see.
But the passers-by
decorate their busy bodies
With upturned faces
And spit back at him,
Vomiting the dirt
that cakes the floor,
The dust they spit
With their flailing legs,
Forcing their heels
Back into his
Wormed crevice;
Yellowed gums, gold teeth,
Deep blackhole-
Black beauty unclean,
Sinking under the world's lies.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem