I'm not afraid, by dictature's iron.
Shield I have the soul of Byron.
Does not has on me people power.
Because didn't need summer my hearts flowers.
As master Shakespeare. My weapon the past.
And the present, as future's compass.
In the middle o'the road o' my Burns and Kipling.
Fighting for rights, art, fo' givin' 'n fo' reading.
As martyr, as artist, as Shelley's pen said.
Alone, against all, 'till in the end.
Grateful to my Christ, revolutionar as Gavroche 'n Twist.
History and Lord, will judge my deeds...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem