Happier are the times
When it’s easier to hunt
In one’s own little territory
Nothing to fear, from no one to run
Life as bright as the morning sun
It’s groomed up bushes and carved down rocks
Fallen trunks and stacked up trucks
Way laid twigs and wayward ways
And coal tar roads on every turn
Barbed wires and booby traps
Crude knifes and crooked guns
Cheating death, we swirl and run
Draw our life behind the rising sun
Happier were the time
When it was easier to hunt
In one’s own little territory
Nothing to fear, from no one to run
Life was bright as the morning sun
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem