I run as wind-red wine, across
cracked lips chapped.
Yes, it burns.Untasted!
Dropsy, shadows stain, Unkind.
One feather, father finds, Unloosed.
I ride the gutters leaf, Unashamed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sometimes its easier to be unkind and hated than kind and rejected. Sad but true. -SG