We have crushed
The flare for execution
Ground out the maddening
Passion that made a mother
Squeeze barbed wire until
Her hands were cut and bled
And doomed lovers kick
As someone dragged them
Up the gallows' stairs
Fighting for that final kiss
Headsmen need not cower behind
Blank rounds in rifles
Or the black mask of
The guillotine and the electric chair
No, these sufferances are quite dead
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem