In times of injury,
When pain strikes and I continually wince,
There by and after surgery
I stand smart and strong after my body I finished to rinse.
Where my body with tire bend,
It is not made out of steel but out of soil!
Thus I take time and mend,
And carry on with that toil.
In that corner were my mind is slave to disbelief;
I trip and a little further I fall,
Devoured my fate and no hope for relief,
And I shall haplessly rest in defeat once and for all.
There would never be, in that body, persistence
If there is not, in that mind, confidence!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem