People of uncertainty,
taught to follow
a fool clutching a book,
or a book dragged behind a nation.
You bow to pages you never read,
defend borders you never drew.
Asked only to learn,
you sit back, legs crossed,
guarding what you call yours.
forgetting
it was never yours to begin with.
Not the truth.
Not the word.
Not even the certainty
you pretend to own.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem