(1)
It’s Nell
Nothing only the lords’ cruse
The hallucinating of angles
A great poem chanted by a saint and he claimed the sacredness
It’s rather passion, retardation and profanity
Oh spirit coast,
Were we to start disgracing, to fear a blind bullet, or taken in betrayal
Were you to retreat, change or being hypocrite, we would remain the absolute outcast
Cursed, hurt, and lisp the saints
Overthrow our skins
And go naked
(2)
The earth was created only to show us
How perigee we are
The sun wasn’t made for the light
It’s an oven to burn the living tissues
And we , the only foul over here
Realize nothing
Laugh for our death
Show an innocent smile to our hangman
And when he feels that life is getting into a routine, he just changes
He celebrates his anniversary, chasing the only dream,
Being a saint.
* A writer and translator from Sudan
