I trudge home slowly from work,
Wearing a vacant and lonely gaze,
Another uneventful day comes to an end,
In a line of similar days.
I fiddle for my light,
As I enter my dim lit lane,
Think I heard a crackling sound,
As I felt a jolt of pain.
My limps don’t hold me up,
As I crumple down into a heap,
The body it shivers a couple of times,
As it prepares for eternal sleep.
I don’t know who had killed me,
Whom can I put the blame,
Death has finally found me,
With a bullet that had my Name.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem