I can’t stop my pen to bleed

I can’t stop my pen to write of my country

A country of saints and shrines of hope

Whose love makes its real beauty

More than rivers, lakes and mountains

I can’t stop my pen to bleed of innocent blood

Which has been smeared

All over the walls in madness

I can’t stop my fingers to wear away

Because of the pain my countrymen bear

I can’t stop my mother to cry

Or my neighbors to stop sobbing

I can’t…

I can’t allow myself to yield to hatred

Which few men have learn to live by,

civil as well as savage,

equally nourished so long

In the hearts of ignorant

For my brothers who now sleep restlessly

In thousands of unnamed graves

I can’t stop wonderful people to shine

Or to build world’s greatest empire

On the rubbles of my home

And to paint it all red

With the blood of my ever-bleeding heart

I can’t stop my beautiful people

To rob my gardens of stones

Those holding the gardens of our love

To fall on prophets of hate

I can’t stop beautiful women of my valley

To tear off their cloaks of dignity

To show their unheard dissent

I can’t stop anything at all

The only thing I can stop

Is to stop being silent

In the midst of noises

Coming from stones and bullets

Falling and piercing only human heart

Who are equally confused

About only one thing

“What it takes to be a human

In its own right?”