The Voice of a Child
Behold my unsullied heart
Lost in the tangling of shadow,
With a gust of whine ached,
And acridity smeared,
And my guileless face
Varnished by surging scud.
Sullied my order as expatriate,
Disinherited me of the woodland of the soul,
Ihave been made but an unheard voice,
a soliloquy of the confines.
Through my body, a whole epic is told:
in me the language of a writer is born,
the colored fluid of a pen readies,
And the theme of untold stories is met.
In the pleasant words of peace,
You have held the reins against my ubiquitous feelings of love,
Making me out of place forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem