Like Charon in his boat on the river Styx
I am a ferryman for the souls in my castle of air
The new ones are being always in a fix
Non-corporal existence it is hard to bear
Some of them still miss the mundane fuss
The others are scared of the obscure nemesis
Some feel trippy as if under bad grass
Just a few reckon with the downfall of genesis
Though all of them beg me for divine mercy
I tell them it absolutely doesn't depend on me
Some deny committing sins or being guilty of heresy
And some feel remorse, ready to enter a plea
Before the Judgement Day they gain a right
To meet with their deceased relatives and friends
I can't help crying when I see the light
Upon their shadowy faces before the night ends
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem