You make laws unto history
change it and throw mud on its
beleagured face.
It is a monolith of perverseness
and you can gag its voice.
Its soul will speak to you
one day.
Sometime.
There will be voices.
Text books may be silenced.
You have silenced them.
But its soul will speek
and fleeing ghosts will
resusicate its wrathful dreams.
Make this embargo
rewrite history into posturing.
Its soul will speak.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem