The Crimson Prince, better than that of charming,
seducing women, without even trying,
Why do they love me, when I am so unlovable?
can they see crimson pain, beaded upon my blade?
Do they see the scars, or is love making them fade?
Sweet am I, but thou art sweeter,
My love upon a chariot shall be showered upon thee,
Lovely are the words I speak, perhaps all in vain,
For your the only one whom I seek, through the pain.
The prince of Crimson, the blood of a dynasty,
all becoming hopless with love, as have I,
I can't find it, this prince is all but blind,
Where is my fair maiden, I'm looking, I'm trying to find,
Lost perhaps in the darkest light,
perhaps this light is just becomeing dark,
This Prince of Crimson is that of a woman.... that is I,
searching for my Princess, I let out a sigh,
Crimson pain, seen to only the truest eye,
Where art thou fair maiden, I'm waiting to make you mine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem