My sounds from prisoners hide the redundant men
Of the west and east, their alertness commands me
To pose the question so like the rebellion.
My sounds are from strangers that deem it essential
To belittle the ceremony of the theatre and walk,
Telling lies filtrating the happiness into mere thought.
My sounds from above and below matter to the master
Who derives the right calculations once in the pipeline,
Little are they who forge the necessary arguments.
Many sounds speak a little heaviness from the dozens
Who have fled and released themselves from their captors,
So that this history exists beyond the whole factor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem