You created these creatures,
A weapon of man’s destruction,
Not the bombs,
Not the guns,
Not the micro species
that could send nations into extinction
Neither the sharpest swords,
That could spell eternal slumber on these visible gods.
You created them,
These dangerous beautiful beings,
The ribs of men,
Wooing eyes into the snare of souls,
Corrupting the very bond that holds us.
And of many us blurring eternal vision
By vanishing works,
Sweat to entice the same creatures
Whose magical figures,
Once upon a time
Left angels crippled to resist the dark tortoise.
You created them,
These beautiful demons,
The apples of men’s eyes,
The virus of men’s mind.
They hunt us,
They haunt us,
Flaunting weapons, arrows that lust us.
But how would this a little lower than the angels
Wake up, walk up to you in snow?
These concrete demons
My witness is the earth,
They are tearing our souls apart.
But have mercy
In the grace
of our innocence
of your creation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great poem. The very last sentence has just a few words too many to be a coherent strong finish. I'd lose the last line, or the one above it. You don't want the reader having to hesitate for even a tenth-of-a-second as he reaches the end. Of course, that's just my impression, a gut reaction, but those are the ones I trust, and if your gut ever tells YOU something about one of MY poems, please feel free to unload. Some parts of your poem have me in awe. The dark tortoise and the waking, walking in snow lines added a depth and cryptic beauty to your poem that was both beautiful and a pleasure to absorb.