I have walked
in the silvery mist decades
and seen rays of fate
which ascend nameless hate;
It was a sweet fall of the Union Jack
but sour, stood the
State coup-de-tat
and liberation wars,
upon record, bony-tuberculosis men.
Rolling round in feathers like eddy,
it was, a lung-massacre
which nearest touched us all,
No breezy, now dry pockets
and monkey influenza, Ebola!
What next, in the text?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem