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No Poem for Your Country

The poet with his pen pens the paeans;
He has sixty-three poems of love
He has sixty-five poems of peace
But he has no poem,
He has no poem for your country.

In red and in blot his pen cries:
The masters might molest him
The army might humiliate him
But he has no poem for your country.

You would sing him songs of brotherhood
But he has no poem for your country;
You would make him happy when he is drunk
You would make him happy when you are drunk
But he has no poem for your country.

Sing him your national anthem
A thousand, thousand times
Show him your national flag
A thousand, thousand times
But he has no poem for your country
No poem for your country.


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