if my lovely path your love trails
you can be the head not the tail
though we might fail
for often we derail
and fall of track, a come back
after so long that we sojourned
we no longer say words that are spicy
dicy and icy, nicely to ourselves
left alone good morning decorated
with mockery and ingratitudes
often held in high esteem amongst
the multitude with unfriendly salutes
facial abuse and whom and room
to accuse, that the predator
now turns the prey that pray
and say, had i known not live a
stooge to my generation
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem