The sky is roof
under it no
season for them
war stranded
group they are
waking
on the blood stained ground
on the shrub thorns
reminding the crucifixion
though no peace
on the dusty loaves,
dogs and they
in quarrelsome sorts
no care
no care
only war drives their life
this to that bank......
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem