Tears and blood invade
The land soaked in hate.
Chaos. Pandemics. What’s next?
The recipe for the bread with fennel?
Peace, on sick leave,
Look, kind of helpless,
From a mundane little dictionary,
To the lady carrying a scythe.
It’s the rattling of weapons one
Trend. Are the heavyweights of the planet laughing at us?
Our destiny is… cannon fodder!
Hear us: We don’t want war!
History hangs on a nail,
And the antithesis falters
In words said, so, hey-hoo.
Peace, stuck in a window,
Sigh, cry, it’s on the duke.
Freedom resurrected
Breathing hard, on walnut shells.
Is humanity doomed?
Author Pop Dorina
România
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