Burning paper
rains down
upon all the dead flowers
The fire catches
and soon,
everything I know
is doused with flames.
The villagers scream my name
burn, witch, burn
their biased acts swarm around me
the wood catches
My feet begin to die
the skin begun to fry
already I am burning.
I am frightened
and in pain
my feet are ashes
above my body
I fly
I fly, and
they no longer
have mortal control of me.
I am free.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem