Papa is dead.
He is following mama.
His coffin is white
And shiny
Very much like
That of mama
In kyrie
The soprano
Sings for papa
In the church
For his last
Day today.
All seems to be white.
Pure, o they were
Purely in love
When they were
Alive, they always
Quarrel, papa kicks
Mama and mama
Bites him in return
They seem not to
Endure each other’s
Presence and each
Would want to
Kill each other.
Mama died first
And papa takes
Her picture and
Keeps it in his
Pocket and he
(mind you)
cries all night
papa loved mama
mama loved papa
after all.
Listen to the song
Of kyrie
Amadeus Mozart
A hymn for the
Dead who cannot endure
Each other when
They were once alive.
Until now, it is something
That I cannot understand.
I listen to kyrie
The soprano taking us to the tip of the mountain
Her human voice
Topping my puzzlement of it all
Why in death, why after death,
We realize the person that we miss
When he is gone, we say we love him most.
Papa loved mama after all
We loved papa after all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem