Translated into English by Latha Ramakrishnan
In the eyes of those little boys that refuse to close
float scenes infinite of crimes.
In those mouths that remain open
trying to utter something till the very end
dying declarations, hidden, keep echoing.
Born in blood
and with the blood not getting dried up
all through their lives
but sticking and oozing all over the body-
with their limbs, torn to shreds by bullets and bombs,
when the little boys of our land kept wandering
the ‘Ilaiyaangal’ relished their wounds,
having a real feast at their expense and
so made them cease to be.
When, in the full glare of everybody-
in the raging war against our Mother Land
when the children were sacrificed,
when they were weeping, looking at their mothers
the laps of those hapless mothers were
filled with blood.
From vaginas to babies -with everything smashed and torn
The root of our children’s soil was burnt.
The Weapons of War
went on a killing spree, inflicting wounds of the worst kind
and killing the children,
with a fine sense of Cruelty.
Plucking out the longing eyes and erasing their words-
the little boys were wiped out
without a trace.
when in the bitter war against little boys
they were wiped away, rooted out
the Eartyh turned deserted.
When the battalions that butcher the innocent children_
born as sons of the soil in the land being destroyed_
sucking and relishing their blood,
made holes with the gun in the heart of
the last child of the land
and sucked his blood to their heart’s content
all the children had been felled.
கடைசிப் பாலகனின் இரத்தம்