A heave of breath,
Slowly rising and falling,
A mind numbing, blood curdling,
Breast thumping cry....
This night will never end,
Like squirrel we scamper,
Trying to find cover. We fail. As always!
Our bodies,
A live canvas,
Red. Blue.
Enmeshed with
Streaks of brown and black.
Visually alive.
Spiritually dead.
Chronicles of a my life
A facsimile of yours
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem