By the time
I started to run...
all the medals
were rusted
on others' walls,
all the children
in the crowds
had become men,
all shoes I had
had become air
and the grasses
on the path
had become thorns.
Yet I still run...
To bloom roses
on those thorns
with my blood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem