I promise the vultures will
Have no place to quench their thirst
With the meal of chicken of our chicken
In their throat.
They will walk the shrivelled earth
And fly the dry sky in vain
And the balded lot waiting for more
Will see the thirsty ones
Stretching their hairless necks
And twice they will think.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem