The Perfume Factory Poem by nimal dunuhinga
The Perfume Factory
The poor sooty chimney cleaner who shouts from a top;
' Oh! These trampled flowers cry irksomely
But the inhuman machines never stop the rotation
And crush the soft petals vigorously.
My vigilance is in vain as I am totally helpless
And the proprietor is useless.'
To my poet friend Duncan.Wyllie
* [ Where it goes the human fragrance? ]
The lament of the human spirit against forces over which he has no control. Excellent write, Nimal. May your voice continue to be heard. Always your friend at poemhunter, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/8/2024 2:19:17 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I think that Sandra said it best, , but I will just add how thankful that I am that you have written so skillfully this excellent poem for me Love duncan X