Pain unites the victims.
Discreetly, afterword, was the same.
Only loser helped you to die instantly
for the millions of stars.
The shadow was a terrorist
on the terrace.
Wounds were flying on erected dais,
the circle of glory was complete.
Over the dead nurseries
sun was kneading the earth,
for a graying sky
to bear the night.
A shameful retreat
of the weaver, of faked skin,
when body was stained with orange bruises
inviting the moon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The images here are nightmarish and vivid. War and violence against humanity, especially violence against women bring madness to all its participants, including the victims and the victimizers. Great poem here.