Grey wings come upon me..
arising, by the moment,
behind each bruised shoulder.
I perch
for better vantage
and observe intently, in wait
for blood-crazed behemoths to collide!
No room
or concessions for sentimentality
or dying wishes.. that
these fell beasts seem ever-ready
to trample underfoot! to
deprive the meek and
grow more their overflowing hoards.
I discern the lesser antagonist
and measure, for now,
how the enemy of an enemy is an instrument.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem