In the bleak midwinter Nothing will grow,
Earth is poisoned, beneath the snow
Cadavers unclaimed lay cold on the ground,
And whisper to heaven without a sound,
The way lit by an ambivalent moon,
as monotonously we trudge homeward, where soon,
Depleted, we lay on a partisan bed
To sleep the sleep of the anonymous dead.
We are the unliving, the not dead
We are the bringer of peace, (our president said,)
We are the heroes, our country is proud,
Our conscience silent, our guns are loud.
In the bleak midwinter, we turn away
Grateful to survive another day
Close our eyes to escape this hell
Please, Tell my mum I'm doing well,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem