I am no angel and I don't pretend,
When provoked, there is rage inside me.
It sort of comes out to seek amends
When the weak is treated unjustly.
I write wake-up calls for the blind-
For governments ill with deafness,
For the callous, vile, and unkind-
I don't use the term 'correctness'
Caustic words hit where it must
There is need to defend what is dear.
Silence is only from carrion flesh
And of Death, I have no fear.
In each of us there's a boundary
Hidden reins holding anger at bay,
My fences are writing and poetry
They're lenitive routes, I must say.
Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~08.05.14
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem