The silence lives in his sweat
Under his skin he is silent
His blood flows in the same direction
But his gun refracts the enemies’ blood.
In his head he does not think
In his heart he does not feel
His scream shows anger
But his sweat merge with his tears.
Did he forget the day he smelt flowers?
Flowers did not make him sweat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem