Like mold, my brother,
You're like Trapped
mold and quiet.
You're awesome, my brother,
As the mouth of an extinct volcano.
And you're not, alas,
You're not five,
You are millions.
You're like a sheep, my brother dressed
When the executioner of your skin
When the knacker raises his stick
You can not wait to join the flock
And you go to the slaughterhouse run, almost proudly.
You're the strangest creatures, after all,
Funnier than fish
Who lives in the sea without knowing the sea
And if there is so much misery on earth
Thanks to you, my brother ,
If we are hungry, exhausted,
If we sum up blood
Pressed skinned like grapes in our wine,
Shall I even say it's your fault, no, but you're at
much to my brother.
Nazim Hikmet
1947
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