Vengeance is red
It sounds like the screaming person from inside you, waiting to escape.
It feels like a throbbing heart, waiting to die from a heart attack.
It smells like the cold dew on the grass waiting to dry up.
It tastes bitter sweet, but never satisfying.
Hatred is black
It feels as if it never goes, but grows.
It smells of sweat, what they do as you glare at them.
It tastes of sour old milk.
It sounds of souls moaning, never to put to rest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem