When on the battle fields the blood pools together,
How do we know theirs from ours.
The sun bakes the ground
The earth drink the last dropp just the same
Oh but hear me not wrong.
The earth loves the taste and
The sun loves to see himself him
In the garnet toned reflection
We do what we do
It is what will be done till the end of time.
Man knows nothing else.
And there is beauty in the simplicity of war.
I long for the simplicity of it.
Because on the battle fields
The soldiers play to no cameras.
There is no filibustering the ambush.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem is very good