With a room full of smoke,
two sons appear through the haze.
One with a orange bottle,
and the other a cigarette.
With the utmost grace they dodge and weave empty dishes licked clean.
But by what?
This remains unseen.
They aproach a small couch on the very end of the living room.
But this is no ordnary couch.
This couch is the thrown of a merciful queen.
A humble queen.
A queen that will sacrifice life and limb.
And queen that has no chamber for herself.
This queen has no royal gifts bestowed upon her.
Only the royal treatment given to her by the heirs of the thrown.
Each with linens on their beds, and a castle roof above their heads.
They hand their queen mother two sorrowful gifts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem