I thought you loved me,
I thought you cared,
Then you shut me and so I fail,
We laugh together with viscid eyes,
While infidelity ambles through our sordid life.
With sober demeanor you valiantly call,
To stand before molochs court,
a heroes welcome bound for exile,
stripped of halos and democracy.
A squatters life ascertained,
A bed of geraniums for composure,
A tubercle canopy for asylum,
under the neon lights of fifty-seventh avenue.
Maybe the lord will gift me a rafter,
So that I may ostracize an altar,
cultivate communal survival skills,
that amalgamate society.
A venerable voice descends from heaven,
long legged with stiletto arms,
a brim hat masks her shoulders,
dressed in ferrous halter.
Are you going to live a paradoxical struggle bereaved of simper thought?
Engross yourself in egalitarian wisdom sans a native tongue?
Lest your soul seeps to Armageddon,
Rise my son!
claim your throne cast by misconception.
I have come to gift you happiness,
To sever the glass of oblivion,
trench my auburn bosom in tandem,
Till every breath of your affliction subsides.
The rain came down awash,
Folk stood guard of their haberdashery,
Reality awoke a tempest dormancy livid,
Fidelities vengeance of I.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem