Raving Divinity
I can't help but rant. I can't help but rave.
To farfetched abstractions, my soul is a slave.
I can't sign that waiver!...the unsavory taste...
of Life and its worth...of Death and its waste.
If you translate this poem, which is easy, you see,
it says, "Icahe bura. Icahe bura!
To fafe berabs. Mysois asla."
There's a man with a sign, that says, "Be thou divine."
It reads, "BE THOU DIVINE!"
As if the divinity, that is in me, should be spreading like fire.
It should reach far beyond me, its waves lapping higher.
"Icahe bura. Icahae bura!
To fafe berabs. Mysois asla."
If you translate it back again, it says,
"I just can't find it. I just can't find it!
I tried. I'm sorry."
� 2001 Lisa E. Stratton
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