Soil,
Don't be fertile more,
Don't be a mother;
Child-traffickers, like mad dogs,
Are moving everywhere.
Don't conceive any green more,
Don't conceive any forest;
The blue-eyed woodcutters, like butchers,
Are sharpening their axes.
O Soil,
Rather become a desolate graveyard,
Rather become a melancholic desert.
Brilliant write, the terrible abuse of innocent children and destruction of our fertile forests with evil around, its better to become a desolate graveyard with nothing to take or a melancholic desert with no growth to destroy! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Has come the time to think about Earth for all of us, not for some! Very well written Poet!