I live in a house made of few cards,
no weather will ever surprise me...
If wind blows again, it'll rob me of heart;
rain will wash my brain... Who'll recognize me?
I live in a house made of few whispers -
they dance with moon beams above my roof...
Illuminating illusion is rather scarce,
but woodpecking lullabies can be a proof...
I live and I am a traded commodity;
I've got no right to be who I was born.
I am a lab rat - here's my identity;
my name has been stolen, defamed, then torn...
And I avowedly utter for those
who have no rights, no name like me:
something has changed, the end is close;
no matter what end, soon we will be free...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem