down the hill seen the hell
as the ground full of corpse
laying like a dead woods calling
the dust, where the smell of
rotten flesh renewed
come master of planner of destruction
awake, there are always wound you
thirst; bone to bone sprinkle
with water and leave not your waste
sinner may know wash your due,
humbly view of what is new
make goodness out of wrong for
there you find my bone
tiding come and go, you will always
be true; try to wake me up if
the morning is ready to go
"a poem dedicated to all mankind who
fight a midst the hunger of the World of
PEACE"
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem