They lived as ghosts
Between the light and the dark
Leading their lives as dead men
Gone without the funeral
Buried beneath headstones without dates
No green fields to tread upon
And see their names
No flowered coffin to cry upon
They were the chosen
The few
To fight
Chasing the wraiths of freedom
A ghost as elusive as themselves
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem