On the podium of hope you stood,
A stream of honey flowed from your young heart
Into our maltreated minds.
Your face like a full moon at dusk;
Your voice made you the nightingale of the night.
Sweet scent of grace and compassion, your voice offered.
It became the weapon of our weeping women,
And resurrected us from the grave of ignorance.
Our saviour in our severe sorrow.
You stood for education-
The fine furnace that forges fine gold.
Campaigner of peace and truth;
The rainbow of light that demolished our dreaded darkness.
You made them to shiver in their pants with fear and hatred.
Instead of these perpetrators to be pernitent,
They tried to bash your blessed brain.
But the bullet honoured you;
Allah shamed them and saved you.
You became the Rose that survived the bullet.
For you Malala, I write this-
A righteous rebel for a resplendent future.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem