It’s in y our blood
It comes prepared with us
Like a flood
Waiting to attack us
Its t rigors
Are yet unknown
But its bigger
When one is alone
Why when silent
We still have it
Maybe not violent
But we stab it
It takes shape
Around a single nerve
That undoes the drape
Of the eye’s curve
And s words may come out
Or maybe not
But it is there, no doubt
Red hot
Sorrow may fade
But that one remains
It feeds on every deed
Its owner it disdains
Cure is control
What cure is that?
Just one soul
An infection is apt.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well; certainly full of anger BUT, I think it's a bit too long; 'lots of single liners; each one almost a poem on it's own N.B 'sorrow may fade, but one remains' surely 'sorrow fades though love remains' why not make this poem into a set of prose...?