My hands burn from the beating
And still they strike
This is the happiest pain I know.
I will cheer your harshest villain
And mourn each of your last breaths
And I will remember us for you.
For you are a spark of light:
You do not assume greatness
But now that it is dark,
The people are noticing.
You descend
They rise
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem