The very sight of beautiful blood stains,
Makes a few happy enough sans pains,
It is not only those who are born face death,
Even the unborn take a quick return ticket,
The majestic statues of peace prize winners,
Hopelessly witnesses this world of sinners,
The personal egos of a few numb souls,
Are stubborn enough to lay infinite tombstones,
Defense is just a lame excuse,
For destruction hibernating in disguise,
Arguments are the rootless seeds,
And the non-traceable results of problems galore,
Whichever track you take,
Decides the train's destination,
But actually, hmmm, uh, well…,
The purpose is the real big thing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem