Thomas Watson works to cure
the diversity of man
with computers to assure
no one takes flight from their plan
as the mesh gets cinched tighter
behind lines then walls of stone,
dooming writer and fighter
to brave barricades alone
while the cabal keeps gaining
freedoms we should be saving.
Brotherly trust drifts; waning
flags are waving, still craving
blood for profit and order
with smiles and needles in hand
to dissolve creed and border
in culling their grand demand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem