In the morning
A wind blows into our backs
Being pushed by the hands of them
It stripped us of everything
Down to the minimum
We continued down the trail
By midday
With busted feet and deadened minds
Our parched lips could say not
Our blank stares could see not
Sun baked and sand raked
Our skin was tough
We continued down the trail
By nightfall
Our knees were gashed
Bleeding at will
Hands torn to shreds
Crawling with no thought
Like minions to subliminal messages
Why must we push forward?
Why must we torture?
For until the heart dies
We will continue down the trail.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem