anguish brewed a cupful rage
your emaciated hands
that would not even rest
lovingly on a scar
strangled an entire nation
you vomitted the sip
a cirque remains still sheltered
under your sweaty eyes
your music to her mirror
like turmeric to an ant-cluster
so will you let emancipation
spill from the kettle or just
acid from your pores
as the night implores implores implores
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem