Once upon a time there was a bunch of crowded streets.
Hustling and bustling, so busy.
Everyone so happy.
Except for this single child.
He walked with a limp, but it wasn't natural.
More of a pain upon the mind.
He was the child who would get into constant fights.
He would always lose, but still he wouldn't throw a punch.
Still he stood up for others.
Protection in self sacrifice.
A harden quality.
I won't employ harm, but I won't allow it either.
That was what he said to himself.
I have nothing to prove.
I owe no one an explanation for the black eyes or bruises.
Because it was my choice to take them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good verse-narrative, and @ poets notes...so true! ! !