A Pint Pot Of Poison Poem by Saiful Sirnwel

On the utterance of the proscribed procession
Socrates, I remember you, I miss you...
On the tarry blood of the highway
I find the torment of the poison you drank once,
I find the joy of fleshy youth in the hidden weapons
I play with the invisible speed of the bullets:
A toxic political game.
In the traps of unprincipled politics
My torn tribulation drops....
Socrates, so repeatedly I remember you, only you...
I remember you too much.

Socrates, give me a cup of Hemlock..
I can't walk any more--
Both legs wrapped in twentieth century fiery chains
Both hands hypnotically handcuffed with anarchists' evil powers
Both eyes are full of poisonous tear gas
And the delta of violence has awakened in the ribs of my chest.

Socrates, Which way should I run away!
Who do I ask for consolation!
All around there are blasted footsteps of tormented people!
In the twentieth century court of exuberance
There are terrorists' slogans
So, who will give me happiness!
The lifespan of exhilaration is in your poisonous pint pot..
Have you drunk all and everything
Socrates, I don't want you to be happy ---
Just give me another pint pot of poison,
Just drinking only once
I also want to be happy...
©® Saiful Sirnwel
From the Poetry book: 'Untitled Abonty'