Ever the thorns pricks with pain
if my mind do not become insane?
hellish gores mark the subtle heart
in countless numbers wound made
survivalist nature, a human destiny
which has to be done, has to be done
I stand facing reality
its face an endurance makeup
down deep a lost world found
struggle ensue despite tears
one day, a liberator will surely made
as I strengthen my will, I shall become one.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem