I could perceive the drum
From a desolate direction
As it echoed destiny
Fate twisted and renounced
Blue, grey, red
Portrays the barren picture
That twigs in my scruples
As I think…
Of miserable ideas
So grim like horror
In this terror
Old foes I befriend
In this forlorn global village
Of a savage populace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem