It's braided strands coil around my fist
As my fingers taint it red,
Little crimson drops drip off my grip,
Yet I hold it and hold my last breath...
It's sharp blades sink into my skin,
And they prevail to make me bleed.
Yet my fingers frail grasp it tight,
They just wouldn't accept their silly deed...
And so they attempt, and so they try,
As the rope rewards them with pain,
My fingers naive keep bearing with it,
Yet they keep attempting, but in vain.
They do not let go of the last link for long,
It was but the last bond that bound them to life...
However, one night when the rope kills them alive,
They finally let go of the bundled twines...
Alas...a painful end they had to meet at last,
Yes, nonetheless, they did have to die,
And yet the rope wouldn't have to skin them alive,
If only the fingers had let go in time...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem