Only the poet at last has to take the responsibility of struggle;
Forgetting the song of heart, he has to sing at last
the policy of 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 but the poet peaceful on earth.
There is none but the poet saviour to men.
That is why, the life of the world and the responsibility
of saving the civilization are only at the hand of the weak unarmed poet.
Missiles come like sharks to devour the innocent people;
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;
Today our poem is only the high ways, slogans and processions.
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