The Magnificent manner of man's thought
hardens our hearts to the way we are taught.
The pure white fires of heaven's creation
doused by a torrent of man's indignation.
Our Divine human right, freedom unstained,
retreats in despair, repression sustained.
A curse upon writers that dare to resist
blackens their work, causes others to desist.
The Poet's great tower, brought crumbling down,
is rubble enough to block out the sun.
The Musician's fine work, instrumental in death,
cries out in great pain, cries out in distress.
Yet know now, dear children, the fight is not over,
so long as the strong maintain their composure.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem