Oh God, their young faces
Glowing with an unknown anticipation
On this day of their graduation
Very young and barely shaving
Always be the baby to mom,
This could be the rubber stamp
On their death certificates.
So young, they seem like children to me,
High school learning, books and friends,
To become killing, fields of fire and weapons.
The look of shock of the badly injured, the complete stillness
Of the dead.
What was his mother doing the moment he died?
We continue to send our flower of youth,
To the killing fields.
Sons, cousins and our friends.
God bless the peacemaker, God will call them his children.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem