O history is at present in the grave.
We buried her, but it will transcend
The grave-stones and the bier.
And any way its ghost will not shy
Of haunting us again and again and again
There is so large a queue I see so many
Many heads royal, wealthy, poor,
Desperate, emarginated:
All under lock and key
Out of the trammels of human history:
Human, I say, human history.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem