Under the shadow of countless
skeletons, I trudge with closed eyes.
I feel the worm blood beneath
my sole, yet I feign not to know what am tredding on.
For sights of blood invoke my spirit
for retribution: I know avengeance ends no war.
I fear the necromantic caress of vengeance: it kills the soul.
And what am I without a soul?
With a tearful soul, I put on my thinking cap;
brothers, drop your muskets, join me I plea!
Enter my boat and we fish sophisticated ideas and not sophisticated arms.
We are hunters of happiness.
We must meander through the valley of peace.
If we comb the corners of brains;
Train sharp thinkers and not sharp shooters, they will ferry us to the temple of peace.
That temple with no sighs and cries.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem