The Conch Of the war is blown,
The broad-shouldered men with their Bow & Arrows,
Against them stands a Tall Lean Human, with long and skinny arms,
Conchless,
He screams rather.
Weaponless he stands,
Against Every Quagmire he stands,
Without any marching band,
He stands,
For a lost cause,
He stands,
Sand of life slipping from his palm,
The young man stands at the dawn.
In the Labyrinth of:
Anxiety, Obsession, Paranoia, Psychosis & Insecurities.
Lost and Down,
The Torso Stands.
For a lost cause,
It stands.
The Man of the Mo'
Stands,
Against the Elephant in The Room.
Against all Ammunitions,
With A Nib and a Diary in hands,
The ''Nobody's Favourite'' shall Stand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem