Last night, I saw a face, Bearded and drawn; The face of a young man, that looked very old. I also saw a gaping hole, through which life had oozed. The hole, belonged to the face. I saw another face, also young, also old; Beadless, with skin drawn tight, Almond eyes, staring, sightlessly, At the eternity of the heavens. They had been enemies, Fighting, to the end, for ideals, however vague, And for their lives. They fought, bravely cruelly, To the death. For what? Why, why does man insist On destruction? On launching himself Again and again at the throat Of his fellow man? Surely, War is insane!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.