High waves of anger hit our life’s shore
Heavy rain showering the last virtue of our moral core
Death is, every where, knocking on the door
A shadow of fear covering the ceiling and creeping on the floor
A flood of exploitation and injustice feeding the next world war
Sickness and poverty increasing our sins’ score
Virtue is the best heritage for a kid,
Which, in his heart, we should store
It might be glorious and heroic to win,
But it’s divine to prevent a war
Yet…it’s not wrong to fight;
If you believe in what are you fighting for?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem