The calamity strikes us when the soldier is present,
He appears to be in front of our soul.
A fool is about, with the pressure of discontent,
His possessions maw us with skill and hunger.
Death backs away, dead men do not speak,
My wisdom bellows and beams on him,
The soldier has learnt to escape.
Inside he learnt to beg for life among us,
International help is not for us at all.
Monday, February 22, 2010