How can I write poems on the Moon tonight
when fight
is going on against those wild beasts
who are doing feast
with the meat of my brothers and sisters?
How can I write verses tonight on stars
when the soil of Earth is soaked with the blood
of my people? When flood
of death and suffering
has submerged my home, then how can I sing
the songs of Spring? I play
the flute of war day and night, night and day
forgetting the moonlight, beloved’s kiss
and all false peace.
