A deep fire burns us directly
Zenith falls on beginnings
Warrior get back on their shields
Garlands of sparks, hundreds of maroon
Mud thrown on high banners
A blood do not want to clean it
Curse on a butterfly wing
And shrapnel spirt of bomb
They cut the firs without mercy
Instead of peace, we bring the death
A target no matter how distant
Few descendants suported in crutch
Under jackets recently injured,
Watch-n load ammunition caissons
(translated from romanian)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A welll written piece..