A quiet evening, waiting for the next angry man
Quiet nobodys, active with a plan
The arrows above them point this way and that
But they all know who to point the weapon at
Stop the oppressor, the deceiver, denier of dreams.
Menace made of paper, whispers and self-serving schemes.
Eyes clear, shouting the plan
Here comes another unassuming man
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
who to point the weapons at. good write. thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment.