After the crackle of whip has ceased,
Under the thumb of violence,
My soul will have been released,
Devoted to a life of nonviolence.
Chances pass by unnoticed,
Labour continued by horse to whip,
When man has sunk to the lowest,
I know I will understand the world I grip.
But until then the hammer and chisel,
Beat down the anvil laboriously,
Until destiny rises above the drizzle,
And my soul is set to float freely.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem