I feel like an echo
an idle wind tepid and queasy
carried on waves and waves
in a sea of electronics
the medias blaring
loud and arrogant
I, another bit of info
listen and repeat,
all has been said before
original and creative genes
unheard and nil
milling about willed and sold
retold and old
echoing out of a past
malleable and tempered
by voices broadcasting
was I born
to such a slavery
of bonded and dependent
Oh, give me back my voice
tell them we
will not be framed,
we will not be enslaved,
echoing over and over,
with consciousness,
echo died, radios were stilled
the medias wound down,
we got back our voices
barely
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem