The mode of aggression is supreme,
A defender was the oppressed;
There is paying, both with defenders
And offenders, for liberty it is so.
The resentment is steadfast, in danger,
So many of some of us are in dangers
Beginning with war and battle of flowers.
There is no pity for the less and the strong,
On the whole a victim ceases to be fired upon,
Like a congestion or an open alleyway.
The aggression is stronger than ever,
Like the lies of tomorrow and the beauty of today.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem