At midnight I go to bed but cannot sleep, br hear in air the suppressed and the oppressed cry. br br Some are crying under bombing, some for hunger; br What can I do for them? br br My pen replies, 'Take me and compose such a poem, br by which the oppressors may be taught a lesson.' br br My sword says, 'Seize me and start the war. For survival, br there's no substitute for dying and killing some culprits.' br br I take the pen in one hand, the sword in another. br My blood starts dancing. By that dance, br eating and sleeping of mine have been stopped utterly.