A spark in the storm,
a vision etched in time.
Not just words, but movement,
not just power, but purpose.
He spoke of the moon,
but his eyes stayed on the people.
A nation lifted by promise,
held by the weight of its past.
The motorcade slowed,
the echo of a gunshot lingered.
A dream unfinished,
yet still unfolding.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem