Those rotten bananas offend me.
They have lain motionless too long,
Decomposing mercilessly in my sight.
Should the maggots come soon
Their prize awaits in criminal guilt,
As colder days n'er suits them.
Blotched in creeping darkness they wait,
No longer coated in tropical splendor.
Temporary magnificence means nothing,
For the world takes no pity
Loving itself and only itself.
They will remain on sacrificial display
to fester in tortured peace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem