I don't know your identity
but I am certain you died for me.
You are buried in that small cemetery
near the road I travel to work.
Every morning, like a rooster that doesn't miss a song,
my eyes turn to the right.
There is your tomb with a statue
of a soldier holding a gun in his hand.
It looks over East were the sun is born.
For a moment I want to know your name,
your birthday and what type of life you lived.
I want to know where and when you lost your life.
Thinking I resign that my questions
don't need answers.
I only know that your courage
has the value of my freedom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem