Wounds all,
Vision is stolen.
Agony,
All night.
Keeping all arrows
The dead went
To fight.
War field-
The body.
Eye-balls,
Bullets.
Wings-
The light.
And yet
The signal-
All blissful.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Amazing to move from war field and bullets to bliss somehow. Nice poetic journey.