For years
Years and years and years
He lived in Asia
A master... (Somehow)
Much he did not write
But to soldiers “Stand-up”
(As patriot, nationalist)
For the ‘Great War’
But for Wigan
(Poor of the higher race)
And against ‘The others’
He became trumpet...
Blown voice to space...
What a shame...
Heart of Darkness
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Perhaps without the early blows there would be no effect. They accumulate into blasts. Thanks for your comment, brave writer.