The World: a moving alive picture,
A display, exhibition of pain,
Saddening events and agonizing soreness,
Where blood flows, shreds lay scattered,
Amid the skeletons and dispersed skulls,
Under the shadows of spurting mushrooms.
A place where demons of troubles,
Are nourished, fed and brought up,
To make humanity their victims,
And Man makes vain ineffectual dives,
To seek, secure harbour upon the planets.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem