Classic Poem

I go to bed at midnight but cannot sleep.
In the air I hear the cry of the suppressed and the oppressed.

Some cry under bombing, some for hunger.
I ask myself, 'What can I do for them? '

The pen says, 'Take me and compose such a poem
so that the oppressors may be taught a lesson.'

The sword says, 'Catch me; May the war start.
For survival, there's no substitute for dying and killing some culprits.'

I catch the pen in one hand, the sword in another;
My blood starts dancing. By that dance
eating and sleeping of mine have been forbidden for ever.