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shared in Poem by
Raising knives and cleevers of despair to follow,
Shouldering guns and bombs to cradle war on hand,
They smirk on peace to call it their own fight,
By all ways they do repell the power of freedom on hand.

Holding flames and flair to light the shrewd faces,
Kneeling down on wounded, slated and white bodies on war's hand,
They laugh on peace to call it their own scars to heel,
By all powers they do consider their own Freedom on hand.

Why listen to aged groups when they have destiny to choose?
Why consider experts when they have their own ways to exclude?
Freedom on hand gives both scare and scarcity,
No matter whatever  be results, They won't be conventional when it comes to prove.

Why understand the talking concepts when they have wars to fight?
Why make sure the protection when they have sacrifice becoming light?
Freedom on hand provides both wounds and velocity,
No matter whatever possibilities be, They continue to destroy world in their own might...
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The very last couplet

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