By all odds tickles the relish of spring,
Point-blank buds bloom and birds sing.
Against all odds all these are out of reach,
For both slaughtered thought and smothered speech.
Free-range livestocks are striking out unfettered pace,
Full season of splendor ready to embrace;
Pent-up people are the only ones out of kilter,
One moment of freedom not allowed to pilfer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem