In my slaughter house
I do not kill
Rather I spill pain
Into the purple shore where
A teen is raped
And count blood
Into the red sprinkle of rain when
A man is murdered
In my slaughter house
I do not cut
Rather I grow grass
Upon the wiles of greed
And graze the beast
Across the meadows of lies
in my slaughter house
I swear
i do not cut or kill
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An interesting paradox of ideas, I slaughterhouse that you do not kill, but look at the toll of all human suffering. This really makes me think, about the nature of our world, and how we stand by and allow terrible things to exist. This needs to be read again and again, thank you for sharing