I am the heroes
streamed with pride and boasts
head high in the autumn's night
vigil and stubborn.
I am the crowd
with the passionate sweats and cries,
lurking in the valley curves...
in a silent upheaval night song.
I am the voice
unbent in the depths of the night...
that sings remorsefully,
the songs of the lone
and will not be consoled.
I am Me
shaped by facts, wits and whips...
hardened by eternity's beauts,
in this land of mine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a nice description of self reading.