The dying—atop this burning mountain,
here,
espy not the living—beneath this fertile land,
below
Dear Laureate of dread:
how many mortals shall be composed to an early grave?
how many souls shall die of virtual grim?
how many innocent beings shall your victims become?
The dying
here
espy not the living
below
But, glory be to Time—the victor
for, how many falls till day
breaks and leaves drop
atop the Laureate's grave?
Dear Laureate of dread: how many mortals shall be composed to an early grave? how many souls shall die of virtual grim? how many innocent beings shall your victims become? on the aftermath of the rape and murder of Asifa Bano ur poem carries weight dear poet. tony
Dear poet, Thank you for the encouragement. I would like to read the poem you referred to, indeed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Poignant reflection crafted in persuasive poetic expressions with conviction. A beautiful rhetorical poem. Thanks for sharing.
It's good to always hear your opinion Dike. Thank you.