After hundred years,
A part of me will be raised
When the weather is not gloomy
And the roses are bloomy
While the sun appears, you will be raised
I will be whenever you are to remain
To taste that ravishing pain again
Then the sky will play its symphony
And if I have a choice,
I will choose our prejudiced destiny
Again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem