They dig into your flesh
with piercing daggers of
indignation
nailing you on a cross
of despair and wretchedness,
where grace and mercy cease to exist
dwelling safely in a
self-righteous realm of
the callous and unfeeling
having a form of
righteousness, without
connection to its spiritual essence
slaying with words
sharp as a two-edged sword,
ever learning, yet never coming
to full understanding of the truth
leaving a trail of blood,
shed in ignorance, of
heartbroken souls, dubbed
as casualties of war
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem