The ending of war is like the finish of a race,
It is never then in mystery, never in peace.
The destruction has hurt a man too much,
It has constructed the bridge for civilization
And the pieces of meat are lost to the elements.
We are objecting constantly, always we are dumb
And the hearts are seeing things, hearing complex things.
We found a lie in the beginning, at the end: No!
Lies are made from the evil side, the darkness,
From this is certain life and no destruction,
For it lies that it lies.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem