It's not black and white
Like they say
No left and right
On the Royal Way
Seeing children taking the
Bull by the horns
Spiralling through the
Secret veils now torn
Your roses grow in
A hidden bed
Tangled with a white lady
Long dead
Meanwhile inner temple
Officials court angels
As our earth
Burns in hells
In the red mill
Bones are ground
To feed the cattle
In cities of sound
And whose are the lonely
Skull and bones in a cave
Years old
Always an unmarked grave?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem