I'm the sole inheritor of
mausoleum masks made of dead bone.
I - flat in countenance - blasted out
hollow eyes plead to external blight.
Crowds of hollow eye;
forsaken and judged by cheekboned
teutons, skeletal in formation.
I eye the matronly maidens among them.
I will win them for myself in my time.
My heart plummets in their gaze;
only sinew, a blood engorged sacrifice-
my ribs ripped open, eyes glassy in omniprescient gaze.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem