Last night at 11 o'clock my venomous relative
Pot bellied insipid ' Prince AlKapone' leaving his bandit Queen in the limousine and did a gatecrash to my halcyon cottage
with his graduate Aerospace son and the intending lady doctor his swollen headed daughter,
They quarreled in a harsh language with us
And the thuggery Napoleon Bonapart slapped my innocent wife on her left cheek.
(Lord Jesus advised to offer the other side.)
He threatened me in a firm voice' I won't let you live here a long time.'
Then I said 'Are you Christopher Columbus? '
What is the use of these feeble hands of a scribbler
Who is not able to strangle an enemy in right time?
And the final episode his naughty son grabbed my collar and snatched my 22 carat gold chain.
(This is the only wealth belongs to me.)
* They knew that my political asylum case is processing now and they did this purposely to draw us for a quarrel to highlight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is much anger in these brief llines. I am sorry for all the difficulties. Well written, though, as always. Wishing you a better tomorrow. Warmest regards, Sandra