In the circumstances of pliancy
What do we do?
Our thoughts flit to and fro
And sideward,
Crab motion in a dilemma
Our Masses have become
Heroes of silence in the storms
Slapping them
So we endure our ecstatic pain.
Speak and be probed
Speak and the gaols
Stare in your face
Those padlocks our lips
Dangle with are strands of servitude
Tying us to bondage,
And the heroes open their mouths once
'Who will see death coming
And runs to embrace it'?
My answer, a matyr.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem