the world started
out with a war
each mind fashioned
his kinds to dominate
all set out for artillery -
the fangs, claws, poisons
wings that could fly
a thousand miles
legs that could run like a jet
eyes that could see ten score miles
weapons, weapons, weapons,
until the almighty fashioned his
proud kind to show their mistakes
plain men with two hands, legs
and a conscience.
all these weapon owners
that kill themselves to extinction
men - god's proof to his rivalries
the winners of the real world
are those with conscience, love
that mere weapon owners
are loosers fit only
for the pots and pans
the almighty always guiding
never allowing his men
to lose sight
that weapons never rule the world
owners of fangs, claws, mighty wings
that all end up in the pots and pans
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem