There are just a few of them remaining,
The ones who never submit to fear,
Who work, create, step up to the challenge,
Who follow their hearts, not the brass’ veneer.
When most of the others are more than ready
To rip you off, to sell you out,
To walk over mountains of dead bodies,
'Oh well, that’s life', they would say, no doubt.
But « c’est la vie » is a lame pretexte,
And, if you look at it through a visor-
You’ll see our souls became part of the trade,
And morals - invisible as the horizon.
Became? It has been like that in ages:
The ones who refused to live in the fear –
The crowds beat up and whipped as outrageous,
To rot in blood, and cry no tear…
These rebels were born once in great while,
They mastered the art of the truthful speech,
So that the history of human kind
Is lit up with their minds unleashed…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem