Hector Pietersons—name or idea
Pulls the string on my tears
Boiling at source to shower on museums
In the jungle of pain I am poured
Like the due of the morning
There are unsung songs in here
Pulling on the song of my tongue
Wetted by tears—this time of night
But the morning will come
And they’ll know the unknown singer
In the morning after the mourning
They rise every day following the night
I have seen them rise with a word
That message is immortal so much more
And I have a call to rise—alone
Or with them—each time they rise
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem