When a big lunatic dreams of conquest:
to restore an empire as it was before,
then in rubble children die in guts and gore,
and this inhumane killing does all humans test,
where scattered families find no place to rest,
poets write war-poems as they cannot this ignore,
politicians do with words each other deplore,
and to survive another day or night at best
soldiers wield weapons as they were trained,
while silent mothers try their children to keep,
from building to building the enemy does go:
to shelters and bunkers where they remained:
little girls and women do to in silence weep,
of the coming death and destruction they know.
© Gert Strydom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
" big lunatic dreams of conquest…" yes! Such lunacies have caused all the wars. Lovely poem.