Same old hills and vales
Of standing and stripped forest
And men few at the top
With rotund necks and pudgy fingers
Still the helpless are skeletons at the bottom
Wishing a new year never comes.
This year I will hold
Back my tears
Leave some sonorous rondos
Out of my lips
The song that will greet the world
And steer it on the path of peace
The world will trudge on the vestiges of war
As the warriors will be handcuffed
And brought to judgement
Here or hereafter
For peace to reign.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem