My name...not in letters.
My soul...universal.
My heart...no Earthly arrows
Draw blood.
My words...John the closest.
My parables...spoken before.
My children...no myths
Draw blood.
My demons...armed angels.
My angels...sacred demons.
My bottomless pit...no hells
Draw blood.
Who invented sins, threatening, frightening?
Who replaced joy with trepidation?
Who invented that garden...to only
Draw blood.
Why insults for sinners...
Why praise for saints...
Why truth-damned souls, who
Draw blood...
Of nations?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem