What good is a poet
when children are tortured,
sold as slaves to beasts
who foul their ivoried flesh,
plunder their innocence,
butcher the protests of decency.
What good is a poet
when blood cakes in the street
under a sun that beats
upon bloated corpses guilty
of impersonating humanity.
What good is a poet
when Justice is dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love the raw passion and power of this poem. It makes me so fecking angry to see the innocent suffer. We live in an insane world and maybe justice is dead in some quarters. But it's poems like this that moves us to do something to look beyond ourselves. This poem makes me want to sit up and be counted, to shout from the rooftops NO justice is not dead. Thank you Seamus for this fierce poem for speaking up for those who have no voice. I wish this was poem of the day so other poets could read it.