Men rise and fall like a winter wheat...
I've dine with struggle and my throat melt
Have been in hell with the company of parent
What a precious life that war preserve till eternity.
Maybe I'm like the gods...
One whose his nights were nightmares
... And so I ask myself across,
Would days come where rest shall echoes?
Far away in a land of nightmarish...
A disgusting doom sound flourish
...then I summon my actions and precautions
For I hustle for my name to be written on the gold stones.
Will she honour the little love?
For man like us are not to be love...
And after these problems laying unsolved,
Amaze I shall echoes the sea when I paddle.
I shall Wait at the gate of Hope
In my hand to help ease pain with wine in my cup
But only for those who help me at the war front on the ship
For whom that labour ought to reap.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem