If i stop, i'll be dead,
for there is little water and bread.
I have to focus and pull myself,
my pals are waiting beside their bed.
If i stop, i'll not reach,
the faithful trust i shall forever breach.
I need to pull and go ahead,
for if i stop my pals will be dead.
I know i am shot in my leg,
but shortage of food can make one beg,
for i have their supply of medicine,
why do my pals have to suffer, without a sin.
As sirens of hell, i hear,
I have to hurry to reach near,
to that place which no one knows.
I have no time for rest or nap,
in my bag is the enemy's location map.
This war brings the worst of memories,
for the soldiers are waiting, have to hurry,
for i don't want to see them burried,
Little energy do i have, i'm no sprinter,
hope i will reach the camp in the bitterness of this winter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem