when they bring you the body
of your son draped in a flag for burial...
and you read his last letter, again and again.
when he talked about fear, and doubt...
not knowing why anymore,
not knowing if he was doing the right thing,
not knowing if anything was right...
and the faces of women and children
that left him sleepless...
will it be only then,
that you question the war?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem