By the sweet smell of the black flare
Of death flying in the hot air,
With tails trailing madly behind,
Soon, you will know that war is kind.
So, let them not twist your mind
With resonant words or exact rhymes,
For they have nothing their country to pay
Except lies about 'the war crimes, '
And that's all what they bother to say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem