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an old wrinkled man,
with hard eyes that cut like ice,
and bled tears soft and deep.....
smoked too much,
liked a drink after dinner;
tossed in sleepless rhymes
of faces he couldnt name...
colors drained to black and white,
throbbing in his hands...
carving the whispers of demons
and angels deep into the flesh,
pulling infinity from human misfortune....
possessed by a love
for the beaten and downtrodden,
carrying buckets of water
up the hill till he could
walk no more.....
writing the scriptures of human desire
in the face of the hellish and numb!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem