Hot clotted blood splashed on cold asphalt
Tortured bodies hanged from prison hanger
A sea of corpses hidden in anonymous mass grave
These are inevitable imagery of my poem
On the first anniversary of a failed uprising
When the sun was ashamed of rising
Oil land people for a better life rose
So they pass out dagger not red rose
The violent cycle led to another absolute failure
Followed by previous ones navigated by history sailor
What they longed to grasp seemed to be reverie
All the efforts they made was nothing but paltry
Peace be upon those who rose and died for nothing
Wish I could find a global bell for them and ring
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem