A mum castrato,
A song-less virtuoso
he has neither the balls to do it
nor the grit to erect it.
So.
what mayest a man without courage be called
And.
for how many a silver pieces shall his life be sold.
If only he'd be willing, to sing.
enough to serenade the lonely nights,
upon which we give comfort to Hades's plight.
the Silent screams of a castrato,
high pitched silence emanating from this contralto
piercing the veil that seeks to mask it.
never had sound so much been sought,
as when almost the pleasure of good song
was forgot.
~SAND
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem