Freedom will be thine,
Never it will be mine…
The freedom is to break one’s heart,
And to take thine from mine apart…
This freedom is the most painfull of all,
As it is undoubtedly what do I call,
The most painful and bloody freedom…
How this to thine soft heart did come?
I know thou know how to run thy sword,
That can even run through heart of lord…
I know thou know how to burn and melt an ice,
To heal the wounds of thy sword the pain is twice…
At day if I say that I am look’st the moon,
All will surely say that I am in fact a loon.
But the pain of thy sword even haunted me to heaven,
It did dwell in the good dawn chorus as a cry of raven.
Oh I never thought that thou will be so cold blooded,
Whose heart only with poison of greediness is flooded.
Thy heart is the place where I was sinking,
A thousand sips of pain is what I was drinking…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem