The hills bespeak fortune after war,
Forces of formations align to cast the enemy
Adrift in decisions of final onslaught.
They react to the walls that shape the acts,
The contract manages a swimmer,
He rolls on his bright back,
He forewarns his comrades.
Black and ugly, the plainness of the sheets
Are bold, for blood is a sentence,
And murder has arisen from the hell,
The gel of hell is a mighty obstacle.
The hills are mountains fit for the heights,
May your manhood be against you,
May hell speak for the slow ones.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem