You took my pulse, understood that I am dead,
Take time to weep, remove the rope that's on my neck.
This ink is my blood, my forearms' cuts will testify,
I left a razor with fingerprints of my suicide.
Influence contrived to take my power and my stance,
Money and corruption gave to criminals more strength.
Trivial and biased was the truth in my court;
Proven guilty with slanders of all sorts.
Left in this cell famished like a convict,
I had to escape incentives of their gambits.
I am with the Lord, he told me to stand at his Gates,
I now understand that staying here was my fate.
They will condone blunders, prove innocent their side whiskers:
They have forgotten who is the real Master.
Keep faith in the Lord; he can be trusted, he is just
He transcends their laws, constitutions and parliaments.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem