I am a coffin,
I am the dark knots of wood
That cover the rotting corpse,
And horrors of death.
I am mascara,
I am the black strands of poisen
That coat and hide tearful eyes,
But no more than needs to be.
I am a curtain,
I am a sheet of cotton
Hiding the rain from people
With their cars, houses and boats.
I am a shroud,
Covering my emotions
From all your beasts and naieve
Henchmen of conservatism,
Hell bent on shutting me up.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem