Not until then,
when veins are slit in millions,
when skins go cold in unison,
and death is a responsibilty,
as well as a fundamental right.
Not until then,
when the eyes shed now tears,
when loss brings no sorrow,
and death is a luxury,
as well as a necessity.
Not until then,
the moment that surely comes,
creepin slowly but ever surely,
Ready, shall I be, to be a piece of the puzzle.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem