There was a tambourine in your shoulder,
drums in your feet and a guitar in your heart.
You seem angry, little boy,
haven’t you accepted God?
Pulsing deep black in the dead of night
we jump, lusting for the wine of our idols.
You’re going to Hell, girl,
for all your dancing and sin.
And when our remains fall to the scattered earth
the worms will fight over the same flesh.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I think I see how it's organized: 2nd and 4th stanzas are some self-righteous 'elder' speaking. 1,3, and 5, the passionate, and defiant, lover(s) . Is that right? Lovely!