Bullet in the pot
Wear your glasses
The ones that read
Jack London
John Steinbeck
And that time…
West is attacked
Bullets are wild
Brains are blocked
With greed of a kind
Now
Leave the city lights
Go with me to
"Feshark"
The mountains are brown
-light to dark
-to grey
And plains
Vast-endless
Erotic and all bare
Comes breeze
-if not wind
With bushes scattered
-in times rare
Plenty are the herds
-and trees
-with fruits
-born, ripened
-thanks to men and women
And west is rich and wild
-on horses
-and mules
-with gunners
Boom, attack
-shoot and loot is their aim and success
-till Zorro is born, made
-shot bullet in their pot
-that was it…full stop
-peace came back.
"Tooth for tooth, eye for eye, " found its way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem