He is in the dark smiling
Almost staggering but steady
But the eyes are sad. Deep inside
Beyond those laughter
He is unhappy man. Probably a long dead soul.
For this time the heavens ar rumbling.
The skies are coming down, quick and thorough
And unto to the clouds, the rains are thudding.
Dark rains are showering him
Stripping him naked and cold
He can burn in a fire. Burn cigars
But the cold persists.
The lies he had sold profitably
That sweet-poisonous tongue
Has finally built great walls around him
He is now lonely and daunted
As the bridges to his home have succumbed
on its pillars
And swept by brown violent floods.
He is now exposed and vulnerable
No alliances
No sympathizers
No one is is willing to get a glimpse
Or hold his stretched leprous hands
He is in the dark smiling
Drunken and sombered
falling and picking himself awake
In the eternal nights
He knows he may not get out of this
No! He is likely not to get out of it
Probably no!
Maybe Not!
But he sighed
and at the back of his mind
he believes that even a cockroach
that survives on his little leftovers
lives and fattens
Between the cracks of a perfect table's joints!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem