An organized force shall belittle me when,
The final gestures have been consumed,
The little heavenly feelings are swallowed,
The innocent children of nights condemn us.
An army has surmounted us in our sleep,
Unaware of the cruelty of the state.
We are the state, the statements come from us
In the headquarters we call.
The police are again provisions for the civilians,
Let them come for ever, in ways they want.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem