There's nothing so surreal
as the sound of freedoms cries,
of constraints forged like steel
though it's bonds were naught but lie's!
And does it cry for the prisoners pain,
who can't embrace it's breast,
or are the tears that still remain
of laughter born from jest?
For freedom lives in servitude
where the server chose his deed,
and prison is the consequence
when choice is bound by need!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem