The pungent scenes that come to mind,
filth that covers like rain on all surfaces.
an' even now, more than ever on our faces.
But this dirty shower does a lot more harm...
we ready at it in our early morn'
scrab an' smeer murk all over...
provide this sheath, layer of impregnibility
an' after:
Dressing ourselves in a current trend,
to be dutiful:
to confrom, jeopardise our intricity,
play into the ordered world, of no divine nature.
All, even I, scurry to this routine,
pleasured us, that another sun gone down;
an' neither audience nor actor recognise us,
an' worse, that we unidentify with our own.
We lose our serenity, the unique of our most self.
Plenty have i dreams, an' reality sturk in the impress of mind,
invaded even in my most intimate engagement...
Evolution is swift and final; like death
it corrupts life, makes another course.
We, that are without....desparate attempts to linger:
Conquer the sacred, desecrate it
tag everything an' all things hence with a price.
A blanket that is not mine, covers:
A dream that is not mine, live it:
A hollowness that is not mine, be it:
in this shower I ail, yet i Linger...
desperately,
to satisfy the pleasure of others, intrigue the void.
I fill it with pretenses, an' pose in gait through deciet in this murky veil...
un - deserved, un - preserved.
The punch of an atrocious fist,
Oh! cannot love,
for i am covered filth,
my companions no better, immersed they are...
of the unsettling contents.
I cannot find art, she that i love...
for my eyes-
are adorn a lens of glee.
That of Our world, greedy, boistful, filthy...
Crying at this dirty shower,
playing music, that forms my soul...
that i know, soon to fade;
before, once again,
attend the venue am post, to be abscure...
to bathe in here dirty shower!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem