Coffee, tobacco, a Kalishnikov
And a spirit that wishes to be free,
These are the necessary supplies of
Dedicated fighters of tyranny
Hard men who, having lost their families,
Will carry on the fight or die trying
To frustrate all the petty tyrannies
That left children dead and women crying.
Their women and children have been taken
Or killed by the peddlers in human flesh,
Leaving them with a heart that’s breaking
And for their brothers, too, it bleeds afresh.
So they fight the war that will never cease,
Denied their happiness, denied their peace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
good write, , , , , , , , , i liked it, , , , , , , , ,