He was, and so they say with righteousness
of middle eastern, unkempt appearance.
His skin was so unwashed and quite unwhite,
plain clothes of foreign fabrication, so exotic
I am no xenophobe and always hold my tongue
in case strange utterings want out to air their wit,
so I went up to him to say that justice must be seen
and heard, of course, if it is to be done, at all, at all,
which is, of course, akin to marketing, of emptiness
and this ought to be done from upper windows of
Potemkin's Villages, it will impress the masses.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
One person to one person, Herbert. Well done. Raynette