Under the chest ribs
Lies a lump of meat
A heap, betel shaped,
Do you want to eat?
Bring a sharp knife, quick,
Stab, repeatedly and be swift,
And out of it, make a good feast.
Soil upon soil
Again on them soil
Makes a good mound
Through it runs blood
Seven litres pure or more
Do you want to suck?
From a safe distance
Throw a Tomahawk
To make a perfect hole
Suck with full content
When Blood will spill.
so many hearts have been pierced and wasted in the wars...so sad!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Smoothly-delivered and thought-provoking! Good job