Yes is all I ask myself
when I'm leaning by the hill;
its arrangements confuse the new day's creatures
I saw them standing still.
With an ounce of rage they're outstretched hands
have silenced those who kill.
But the generator, emancipator,
enjoys a subtle thrill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
very very nice... beautiful usage of rhymes.