Only the poet at last has to take the responsibility of struggle;
Forgetting heart’s song, he has to sing war and peace.
Who the oppressor snatches whose peace-
It seems that the poet has to find out that’s solution too!
There is none peaceful on earth but the poet.
There is none but the poet savior to men.
The life of earth and the responsibility of civilization
Are only at the hand of the weak unarmed poet.
Like sharks, missiles come to devour the oppressed;
The poet has nothing but the broken pen.
Still this pen knows how to break the sleep of stones
And how to shake the pillar of earth like a storm.
No imagery, no rhythm, no rhyme any more;
Let poetry be the high ways, slogans and processions.
