Greeks vote
Yes; Yes; Yes
I say to
No; No; No
Even if we don’t see eye to eye.
Fact is that life is short; some days long
Regardless if few, a few, some thousands
And then what?
We all die, killed somehow, or in bed.
What remains is pride
It can mean freedom
It can be the respect
That makes us human.
Greece lived through much
Lows and highs
With hunger and the fights
Externals, internals
But ‘Greek’ means ‘Greek’
They discuss, kill and die
IMF is devil; angel-faced
Imposes loan at first, sweet words
These money launderers wash brain.
Like in past of China and Iran in hands of Britain
For long time opium was Asian cultivate,
London got in trade, supplied it, low price
Good price was offered for remains (called Shireh) .
People sat and smoked, prosperous business
Suppliers increased, (and addicts)
England enslaved, caught the fish
Rose price in selling and reverse in purchase.
The same is IMF.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem