The bargain of peace,
Does not award commission;
All favour death,
But I am compelled to beg,
Donations of life,
From the weapons.
Despite we went through
Half a century of trials,
We could not learn from our environ.
The life is changing its costume,
The destiny has proclaimed
That the cockroaches will govern the earth.
My inner-self is dead since long,
War will dispose of my corpse,
I am the song whom my contemporaries
Are scared to compose.
The stables have entered our abodes,
We, generation to generation:
Are the guardians of white elephants.
Someone should pick,
A chew of love from my heart,
To drop it into hearts of the rulers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem