This night fed the other rights,
Young textures of the sight.
These solid lines blink and glow,
Fitting with standards new and old.
Many serrated knives kill,
But this night one murders.
Weddings and funerals let time
Honour the way we live:
The killing of a man is death,
So soldiers die as well?
This night and day, we calm
Our minds in, feels quaking
And morbid alliances.
The night causes language
To flow from among us,
Thus the setting is absurd
For the most beautiful sight
Of unlawful killing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem