The blood is still hot,
A few have been shot.
It endorses our madness,
We are marching into darkness.
Our flags are flying high,
But our hearts are wandering low.
Knife to the present world, sure,
Is more than a vegetable chopper.
Many political victims are born,
Innocent families, to forlornness are thrown.
Who sees their ceaseless tears,
Who is prompting a cease-fire?
Man is on an endless feud,
Life has become so nude.
Where is our ancient torch?
Life is getting beyond repair.
There is a flag within us,
It is flagging our senses.
We are becoming too flagitious,
Our future at this rate is not prosperous.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem