Help! Help! Help!
I am aflame.
Leaping tongues lash my prison
and lick the charcoal soul within.
I am burning.
I am shrinking.
I am dying.
It may mirror a fire incident
or a suicide or self-immolation.
Chatter or whisper later how fire caught my spire.
Douse me with your humane liquids.
No. None came forward...
The blood shedding eyes saw the bloody death.
The poor charcoal felt the fiery foe`s hell appetite.
The Earth told and spread and lost it far awry.
One blue eyed clairvoyant invoked
in one moon less night
just to unearth a mystery
as one weird poetry bug
loves to rape an abstruse piece.
Once you meet that certain pervert
you too may dig out the burnt-to-death history.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem