We are the wild things
that grew up too soon
and submitted to taming, only to be
haunted by dreams of wilderness rest of our lives
We are the wild things
that looked wide eyed at the ordered world
and let it entice us with the fallacy
that perfect is better than good
We are the wild things
that fell in love with moon
and thought shackles are garlands
that all lovers must be adorned with
We are the wild things
that wore their yokes of charity
with Dunkirk- spirit
but longed to fly away every night
We are the wild things
that survived the banality of wont
and found a way to sow our oats
hitching a ride on whirlwinds
We are the wild things
lathered with wild honey and hibiscus pollen
waggle dancing in forest fire
heedless, pinned against time
We are the wild things
that refused to be tamed
cleaving to our wantonness
as our last act of charity
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem