Broken dagger, upon the shelf,
Rusting as time goes by.
It dignifies the lonely self,
Without a truth or lie.
It holds the empty souls inside,
A paternal illusion.
It sits on a shelf and slowly dies,
Leaving the ultimate confusion.
A silver smitten sunset,
As the golden clouds go rolling by.
The owners of it fret,
As they say their last goodbye.
The people leave the house,
Abandoning this hope.
each by each, one shall die like a mouse,
Or hang from a gallow rope.
The broken dagger lay waiting,
Through the loss and all the tears.
Like the animal calls for mating,
They still know no fears.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem