Maybe I was rehearsing to be me
when we trained very hard in the camp,
when we tracked the deadly enemy
through the hot sun, the strong wind and the damp,
or maybe I had been a kind of scamp
as the war went very well on each day
but when writing here at the bedside lamp
I wanted to run, to run far away,
not in great fright to run away, or to flee,
but to find a place of great tranquillity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem