Thrust carried while living.
The thrust's force and weight.
This carrier's not willing.
It didn't matter at any rate.
For all thrusts in humans,
Make the giver unkind.
He is a hellish human being,
Carrying daggers so unkind.
He, the thrust giver,
Gave that burning, flaming,
Searing hurt.
Beyond his unkindness,
The painful raining,
Never himself blaming.
The killing feeling,
That thrust
Carried around,
Forever in the seconds,
Nanos and minutes of his life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem