War is Over
Never had I seen a God
‘Til you came in
And I got high, and felt me nearing Paradise.
Then came the war,
And the crown I wore a wreath of majuruana
And squatted in occasional trenches
through long narcotic nights.
Some chieftains granted me their pipes
And the mercenaries came with bayonetted crimson needles.
No, never I have felt the same
To smoke my ashes lit ablaze
With Dionysus' merry flock of fiends.
In the sepulchre of an emerald furnace;
a field of weary faces slumped in hands
such twisted loathsome loneliness,
a throne of wretched downfall.
Aye, let me go from here
enduring as an alien
With all my many tongues to brood
one saving grace near Paradise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem