Freedom, who is free,
Even the birds that flees high,
None is free from traps of it hunter.
At wheels of deep doom of the wind,
Free is which forest,
All trees suffers,
Within the blankets of dry season,
No land is of space of freedom,
They all feel pains of no water.
Mountains need grounds to stand on,
Bridges need joint to hold firm,
Waters need lands to rest on.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem