In a hailstorm of bullets
There you lay,
Huddled up like a banana peel
Looking up to Mr. Death
To take up vestiges of life
Seized by his ugly hands,
In a bid that you be free.
With a hollow heart i look
Bewildered in a helpless way
For time to turn aback his hands
Knowing better than to wish
I cry helplessly in defeat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem