I look at myself with a look of pain
I look and ask; how comes to fail?
Wasn't I enough or lost I the trail?
The trail was I or I need again to sail.
Madness would spring to favor my ale
For words could not be on my mail
To ask my dark room ceaselessly to sail
And an answer to Be real it would wail.
Nothing was mine and I could not sell
A tired dream or perhaps I would not tell
That I was and from the edge I have fell
But no one was there to ask or to rebel.
Bury me alongside my colors I yell
For darkness is such a lonely dark cell
I don't want darkness to be my propel
Or to cast me away, just within its hell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well thought-out and nicely embellished with poetic rhyme and rhythm. A beautiful work of art. Thanks for sharing Mohamed.
I appreciate you remarks Chinedu