We stand alone in the rain, all day,
Due to coldness and dampness,
Flirting with the droplets of power.
Our sight remains fixed on brotherly needs,
Wandering crowds collapse their view,
Fidgeting kids are a sight too beheld.
Like the roaring abysses of early years,
Such as waterfalls and cascading rivers,
We drive our duties down the barrels
Of our guns, to people we see dimly
With grimaces on our faces.
We stand alone in the season of hope,
Watching the sun doing its favoured
Task, so responsible for its events.
The burning weather is heat for whole
People, singeing the air with completeness,
Like the ranting puppets and the rampage
Of the medieval battering ram.
This is their duty to our skin,
The grimaces on the faces are slim.
Licking the ice-creams makes you timid
In the land of dreams and accountants.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem