The color of war,
with women and men
crying in the streets,
near their doors,
lamenting about what fools
they were again,
wishing for a war,
going against the rule.
The shape of madness
of a just healed heart,
that will bring sadness
once or trice more,
and that is destined
to be broken apart,
when their friends depart,
for one never learns
when to be smart,
about matters of a heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem