And God looked down upon the earth,
to ask of me what I would do, this time,
he knew, of course, the misery of Oz,
how they had won, through a conspiracy
hatched in the comfort zone of foreign lands.
'The meek' he said, they shall inherit all,
he did not like aggression or deceit.
nor did I have a bloomin' thing to lose,
nor was my soul in fear of heaven's sudden wrath,
thus it was time to let the raw emotions go,
I will consider without fear or trepidation
the guillotine, the rope or lethal slugs,
a sharpened hatchet, a machete, freshly honed,
Saddam's own drill to use through auditory paths.
There are so many ways to pay the price, my friend,
and he will pay, of that be sure, that in the end
revenge is sweeter than forgiveness, any day.
The spider said as he got up from bed at dawn
'it shall be done and if it kills me, it's a go.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I'll tell you again, Herbs, I'd like you to win justice rather than revenge. A dark, disturbing poem, inevitably. Skilfully so, though. Love, Gina.