I listened to the late night cry of the owl.
I waited and watched with unabated breath the face of the dog as it scowled.
I heard in the far distance the constant cooing of the fowl.
Life has been murdered, I was told.
As I moved to the streets to watch,
I saw heads bowed and eyes bloodshot.
If life could cease to be,
Then what hope have we?
Life has bid us farewell,
We have signed agreement with death.
Death is the ultimate price in a fierce quarrel.
This is what has become of our earth.
For how can life live still and the course of our existence be changed?
How can life live still and children precede their parents into the grave?
No, no! Life has ceased to be,
And with his death goes our will to live.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem