am drowned in thought
so hardly
am thinking, silly
silly it's a naught
like my mind is lost
and efforts to drag it home,
unyielding
and am wielding
some cunning ever known
am simple
a complex simplicity
and emotions in plain duplicity
trying my best to be humble
Am possibly crazy
but sane
a potential madman, maybe
am twain
with a joyful anger
shall my cheeks be smiling
a pleasant countenance ever
then the true self a hiding
is earth home?
what shall I, but drone...
and am not solo, for
it's but a trial for all
life is queer
to the layman
and the seer
like we see by aid of the sun
I've wondered
abbreviation is a long word
the better, the least said
if my neighbor wears a smile, my life is not wasted
life is but an example, thus
of another if its the faith
or guide us through such
that we may find a later date
its simple
and complex
it's least of a raffle
more of a test
what you see is
least of what is, and
the unseen, this
ginnel between living and the end
where do we go from here?
shall we walk Earth a second
another form, higher or mean, and
with joy or attain the purport with fear?
or shall a self within
be punished for the deeds of the flesh
as the teaching
and to it as are we raised from earth.
did it escape Yehowa?
that we now share the Christ with the house of Isreal
Mohammed with the deserts of Arabia, or however
is this for our race a trial?
or that we have been blind
waking now to our own, undermined
and agreed for others' as priestcraft
and ours- fetish, with witchcraft
we have been supposedly free a decades
and now slavery is voluntary, as
their superficial sentimentality at that
and when we fall for our heads to their blades
we are still slaves
no! we are free
we are free slaves
for we are bonded, and we are free
we sang patriotic songs
and wrote poems, long
and sent the slave master to the seas
but he handed his fetters, and whip
to our leaders, and the chiefs
now we are free slaves, asking no right than peace
we sing new melodies
and hail their praises
they disturb our peace
handing us the piece
when shall we be truly free
and our kids be sure of a full life
what is the warranty, to see
sunlight tomorrow, and not a bunch of roses
for wreath upon our graves
and the sympathizers lined up for similar doses
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
good, poem, but, long... (srry,4, the, punct., my, spacebar, is, screwd, up)