On my way to the graveyard,
I found a couple of cold-blooded mammals
Standing beside their created carcass.
And every time I pondered about them,
They made me ponder once again.
They yelled out, prayed to god,
Perhaps, to get back their dead foe back.
Just behind them, I found some red dew droplets,
Some sharp knives and a gun.
Perhaps, some red tears emerged from them
Trying to call back their foe again.
Seeing this, my limbs trembled, and I went out,
Just then all disappeared,
Disappeared, the dead foe,
Disappeared, the mercenary hell's angels,
Disappeared, their cynical tools
Which once made them win battles.
On my way to the graveyard,
I found myself dead in mind,
My eyes were tired seeing this,
I laughed, I wept,
And when I came out of my imaginary world,
I found myself dumped in the happy graveyard.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem