I cried
when I died,
not enough tears
to douse the flames.
My simple life
lived on the high Plateau,
no more that life
all gone now.
The Chinese blast
into space
bleating their love
'For this Heavenly place'
I died for my song,
I died for all that is wrong
My life no more value
than a paper cup.
15th JUne 2012
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The agony of a voice in wilderness is aptly captured in the piece. An insightful depiction of oppression of a people by a formidable foreign power, well articulated and nicely brought forth with conviction. A brilliant patriotic piece set aside for sober reflection. Thanks for sharing Amala and do remain enriched.