Alone in the world of writs
I stand alone
To mockery because my shoes are worn,
My suit torn.
Alone,
Because I refused to invest my time
In vanity of men’s wealth
The relentless treadmill of materialism.
The infinity of human thoughts are vital to me
While friends and colleagues
Constant in the mad rush for avarice
Alone,
When I speak against societal ills
Paid writers mock at me
And call me ‘fool’!
My mind, preaching constant messages of irrelevances
Because I will die a writer.
No money,
No friends,
No foe.
Alone,
When intelligent comrades backslide
into a reverse and praising of societal tyranny.
Alone,
When vanity of fame and temporal gain
Reduce men of honour
To a loose dissolved state of lies.
Alone,
When the courage for truth
Falls to a beggarly withdrawal for fear
Alone,
When mass comrades reduce intelligence
To cheap Trade by Bata.
Alone,
When moneybags employ friends
In the service of sly.
Alone,
When kings and kingdom
Turn greater minds to lesser scribe.
Alone,
When hunger, pain, loneliness
Stare in the face
For uncommon stance.
Alone,
Let lies increase
Vanity multiply
Comrades compromise
Hunger kill
Clothes burnt
Impoverished me be
With no friends
No follower
And in the grave
Just like I came,
Alone, Alone.
Taking my breath away with simplicity and power in one air felt swoop. warmly adrienne
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Don't tell me you expect something else from the people...they forget you way too soon you might not find the time to forget them sooner, yes too soon...but you don't seem to have no followers and friends for what you write comes from the depths of your heart I suppose and that will certainly lead to something. You know, sometimes I too, feel that I will die unknown, with my poems never read by anyone, but what else do we have to expect in this world full of people, bones and arms and legs everywhere...