A pitiful bird hooting
humming tunes of gloom
perches on the fence of my house
broken, famished and toothless
its beak battered by tears.
Sun rises, sun sets
and hurries back to where it rises
I hear the cracked voices
of midday beggars
in monotones of alms-seeking
slow, unrhythmic and eerie
singing sorrowful songs
that take my sleep away
and wouldn't go away
The whirling wind blows
to the south and turns
to the north
round and round it goes
and lands on their chests
but still the pain wouldn't go away
The storm rides on its
broken tattered wings
like cold sucked blood
still the pain wouldn't go away
so I stirred, the fires in my eyes
reddened my anger
and I couldn't roar it away
My heart flows in tears
of blood,
that comes to no good.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Gratitude Matthew, I'm humbled sir. Thanks for the comment.