Young men,
like rats we wallow.
Dying for giants,
that don't know sorrow.
Through our flesh we bleed,
though our souls know there is no need.
The earth shutters,
under the weight.
Of dying men,
accepting their fate.
We know then comes the hour,
when their war machines will devour.
As men we,
all die alike.
With no mention,
of which side we fight.
Sceaming, moaning, crying,
we are all someone's child dying.
In all this,
Chaos and debris.
They will say,
we fight to be free.
Free to follow giants orders,
and if we resist, they will give us no quarters.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem