Killing-killing-killing everywhere there is killing
Flood of blood, tears and cries without healing
Gun and the powder are the fruit of festive time
For cruelty they act, for religion they lay mine!
Religion stood alone with tears without trust
We lost the core of the peace and sat on crust
And sky above us, worth musing mirth of pine
Peace-peace-peace we recite being a supine
Slowly, merrily, gaily humanity falls into ocean
And the sun of heaven dying in rolling motion
And moon on her face, the scar dark looks nice
Meteors are the crackers of hell for the vice
Still time is there for a ugly ending of cry
Still time is there for lovely beginning of shy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.