Seek the verses of another man like mothers,
The fathers write on the block of wood in earnest;
Seek the writing of a day and night that glows
Fuming with spitting gases that deny the rights.
One warlike future is ousting a leader or dictator,
But the war is a battle of goodness and joy.
The war is loud and silent, distant and near,
Little like boldness, a lot like audacity.
My war is so wrong that beauty is shadow,
The falling of the monument collects danger
As dangerous as death, the reality of the wars.
Seek the verses of writing and reading, innards
Have squealed towards the right action.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem