The walls are falling.
Earth shrugs its shoulders,
Jails crack and are level with the ground.
In the high tower the chains crumble
And hold no more. The prisoners
Are free but make no move.
I know this stillness: it is the will
Turned stone, making limbs inert,
Even when the gate is wide open.
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Once grown accustomed to thraldom, even when the gates are open, we never feel like going out! Our legs refuse to budge! This is a dangerous and chronic condition! A very powerful poem with beautiful diction and succinct style!