I am a serf,
Weakest in the Land of Not.
I am a slave to all,
From the lowest serpent
To the loftiest dream.
I am a serf.
I and my kind stand like men,
But oft this is only an illusion.
Because we stand not together,
We stand not at all.
I am a serf.
I live blind, def, and dumb;
In ignorance and fear of the truth.
Not because I can't,
But because I won't have it any other way.
I am a serf,
Redeemable only because
I'm all that there is.
But for only as long,
As I'm all that there is.
I am a serf,
I and my kind are producers.
All things made,
Great and small,
Come from my ranks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The tone here is unusual when compared to your other work. Not completely negative, or sad; and there's a hint of pride there. The remnants linger and feels like confidence and self-assurance, hiding in self-effacing acceptance of such a status.