The multicoloured apparel covering the heads of men,
And like every vision to fulfil a dream;
But i am not your father.
A bed is made for you and i and,
I will live on to tell you the side of my story;
Because i am not your father!
From Sheba and to Raamah,
And to the lands of hope to see you through;
But i am like a table with three legs now.
The coverings on every statue,
And of the sad notes in the valley of bones;
And of the bosom of their virginities to cry for help,
But i am not your father.
Men portrayed upon the walls of love,
And of the flesh of donkeys prepared as food;
But, i am not your father.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem