I Stabbed him once-then did it once more
I pushed him down to the cold floor
I took the blade-into his chest
I took it out with strong detest
His blood was deep seductive red
I felt his heart-yes, he was dead
His blood was rich with deep divine
Gave it a taste-like sweet red wine
I painted my lips and kissed him goodbye
my eyes were dry- I did not cry
For he was crude, that father of mine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful, elegant and classy; great poem! One of the clearest and most elegant poems I've read. Although you could change the word 'mean' to something else, 'cos it's rather informal and stand out in stark contrast to the rest of the poem, thereby disturbing the nice flow you had built up earlier. (: