poets write against the war.
safe inside their rooms
they toil at the typewriter
hammering out metaphors
readers will relate to.
they don't hear the thunder,
don't gasp at the suddenness
of the human body
torn apart in its death throe.
they don't have to listen
to the rattle of a last breath.
they just sit and write
trying to imagine the agony.
they protest the brutality
of man vs man in warfare.
the utter stupidity of violent death
does not escape their attention.
poets write against the war.
but the thing is,
they do not
have to
listen to the echoes.
(4-29-1974)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem