poetry in progress
the mouth is the living soul
in an eden of ivory towers
the heart the seat of God
there the rules are laid out
the tongue is the spineless
that can morph into a devil
at the convenience of the dweller
a heart tells no lies
it is the seat of God
and there is the beauty of
beauties, purest of spirit
a chalice filled to the brim
with answers to a million
years of yearnings, for all
the years with an equal number
of ungalvanised answers
if you care to search for its
sacred hints at what is beauty
beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder
and the heart tells no lies
it is the mouth that in all its
clean ivory innocence may morph
into a snake in its own eden
the heart tells no lies
it speaks as soon to its owner
of any intransigence so that he goes
to sleep heavy like adam after his fall,
poorer in the soul and tears brimming all over
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem