impotent men...
their hands on the reins,
choking on the flesh
of the poor and subjugated.
while birds of prey circle,
bodies strewn on the streets;
another martini, stocks rise and fall!
the pipeline pulses, liquid death,
the eyes of the children
gone to marbles in the dust.
the prophets of profit
tilt their hats and turn away,
leaving the stench of their greed
on unmarked shallow graves.
their god is dead, the world keeps turning,
while the weak and the fallen
kneel in unholy prayer!
impotent men, beating their chests!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A great poem as always. A good write.