While you stand alert behind the bushes,
I'm writing a line of my poem of resistance,
While you're gone back-home,
I finish my poem,
While you shoot from a weapon,
I shoot from index finger,
Writing on the wall graffiti and poems,
About tyranny and oppression,
About killing and maming,
About blinding and disappearing,
One day my poems will appear...
...in the print edition,
I'll continue writing more poems till then,
To bequeath to my future generation,
Poems about the fucking fascist politician,
Desiring to enter the galaxy of Hindu pantheon,
So sits in circles with the Hindutva radicals,
And never shuts up the mouths spitting venom,
Who create discord and disharmony,
Who spread hatred and animosity
Mykoul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem