From tearstained bone my flagpole bloomed
and yet I have no flag to fly.
No regimental colours, no darling lady's favour,
no flag of nation or factional standard do I own.
Hoist then, the dull grey sheet, a fabric, zero portrait,
pronouncing inner blank and reluctance to exist.
Whispering weak apologies and incredible apologies
I nailed my life to the flagpole and stole guiltily away.
From tearstained bone my flagpole bloomed
and yet I have no flag to fly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem