There must be a man somewhere
Who sees into the heart of things.
Ventricles clogged by secret lust
For violence, bitter juice, revenge
Lost hope in passage, aspiration,
Breath, the dreams of dull routines
Drops of cherry-coloured tears
In channels run, immortal fears
That rear unbidden, clog and check
And strangle life remaining
Elevated, rising steam
From burning embers of the fight
Bright visions of eternity
In yearning for immunity
The heart lies void, resentful in the night
Its longing an imperative
To know the pleasure of the dawn
Pulsating in its seizure.
I know there is a man somewhere
Who sees into the heart of things
Sighing, he spreads out his wings
And cries.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
And if we could find this such man, could he fix all of our ails? Reminds me of 'The Wizard of Oz', how everyone went to him for the answer but the answer was always within themselves. Most deep poem Frank - lovely, as always. HG: -) xx