Pull away from the brink of the precipice
Where mad blood to your head
Steers you not to salvation or progress
But to perdition, advice came through. Let it be said.
Pull away from the vortex of the quicksand
In which illusion, collusion and delusion attracted you
With trinkets and trivia whose brand
Shone with neither luster nor clue.
Pull away from the straitjacket
Where you've ensnared your future
With your eyes wide open as a trek into a thicket
Turned out into a nightmare that tore apart your culture in full view of a vulture.
Pull away from the tomb
In which you drove at breakneck speed
Believing you were scoring points in a womb
Where gestation brainwashed you into a puerile, sterile seed with no creed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem