The field we played has grown
Our rest room a forest
Our farmlands a desert
The hypocrite has done so
Our beloved home a dumping place
Dumping the hunger killed
And the wicked grass covers them
Are we still in fight?
The messengers message a terror
Terrorizing the ears that hears
The message it carried
And the gong stopped talking
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A nice start.... Wlcm to poem hunter..10 You may like to read my poems too... Naila