My battles inside are just beginning,
But it seems my solders are resting
Unloading the final bullets as if it's over,
Not knowing that grenades and spears are coming,
Little did they know that their helmets could save me,
To pick myself from the mud filled with crocodiles.
This does not make it easy for me to even crawl
Because those knees are pointing down with no hope,
My hands with no clue of who to help,
And with my eyes filled with dry waters,
As I cry to you my soldiers to get up and fight
There's a crowd of giving up making noise
Telling you to give back your badges to me,
And hand over your arms to me,
But solders you know it well that I'm weak
I cannot go back home with a lost battle.
I may be the captain but the commands are empty without you.
Don't sleep solders,
I beg
I knee
I bow.
WOW THIS IS POWERFUL SISTER KEEP ON WRITING iM INSPIRED But solders you know it well that I'm weak I cannot go back home with a lost battle.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
To pick myself from the mud filled with crocodiles. Because those knees are pointing down with no hope, My hands with no clue of help, And my eyes filled with dry waters, Don't sleep solders, I beg I knee I bow Great imagination! ! indeed, u got into the mind of a soldier and felt the warfield in you... and wrote such a wonderful poem. love u for this dear poetess. tony