Far away, we still so near,
Nights would try to lay us down,
Like dew in the morning,
Still we are near;
Wounded by many,
Bruise our skin picks up it pieces,
Pierce and crushed with lies,
Whipped with betrayals;
Still we are near,
Like a story with it own scars,
To shine in our silence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem