Out aloud
gathered by many
the good
the bad
the caring
the uncaring
hypocrites
soothsayers
I will rather be gone in mute
What has that even done?
has my noise healed me?
alas my pain starts my pain
those cruel years
those sweet feelings
those mental siren
parade of dissatisfaction
those naughty boys
who cares what I feel?
from inception
I was weak I was told
Alas! a tale
a tale of the farm
me, weak?
those heavy two balls
are they for games?
that flat plate
is it for food?
balls turn water
water turn survival
plate turn bag of the season
bag turn haven
my pain my grieve
my prestige gave way
water bag tears me apart
lo the bag is me
the water likeness of me
but yet,
I was battered
flogged like cow
used like horse
killed while living
sorts of appellations
am i truly weak?
maybe I am
were they right?
maybe not
my cross may be responsible
shall I continue this way?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem