His eye. A black scar on the flag of peace,
like the dark spots on the silken fleece.
I hid behind the bench as his bullets killed all the pain,
and for a moment our eyes met, like a walk down a deadly lane.
His eyes were dark and scary, like a Haunted House,
filled with secrets and stories, where the problem arouse.
He pressed in the tears with the streak of black kohl,
but a killer, he had none his heart was an empty hole.
He stared through beginning of death and end of life,
savouring the red on his priceless knife.
But even in that moment I saw a fear,
fear, that took him away but brought him near.
Scared to lose himself in the crowd of love,
so he destroyed all identity, up and above.
Armed with guns and daggers, oh! he is strong,
but void and empty of humanity he won't last long.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow what A poem I THANK TO MY GOD I am really interesting