I do not complain
about my misfortune
The loss of my youth,
The deforming of my soul.
Sleepless nights without number
have left me with bitter memories.
I have rejected all received truths,
I have broken free of all shackles,
And all that remains of my heart
is in ruins, as far as the eye can see . . .
But still, I have stood up!
I stand on the expanse of the horizon.
Never again will anyone, by any means,
be able to push me down.
If it were me, lying in a martyr's grave,
green moss eating away the characters on my headstone;
If it were me, savouring the taste of life behind bars,
debating points of law with my chains;
If it were me, my face haggard and pale,
atoning for my crimes with an eternity of labour;
If it were me, it would be
my tragedy alone