As we talk about the bad things,
The crimes people commit, and how they are caught and punished
There blooms a flower of hope
A satisfied thirst, that crimes do not pay,
That in the long run
The good triumphs over the bad,
But that is not always the case, you know,
Though not written,
The bad triumphs too, and they live in their
Castles of crimes
Uncaught,
We see all these, and we are convinced,
We cannot be like them as we ought not to be,
We choose sides, we make fences,
We gaze, and then
We say, something must be done,
We can, i can.
And then, after all these,
Some can start writing about us,
We have chosen, and we are good
At the end of the chapter,
Sunrise, not sunset, light and not darkness,
Win and not lose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem