My brothers, <br />Forgive me if I'm unable to say <br />honestly and straightforwardly <br />all that I would like to say to you <br />I'm drunk, my head is light, it spins, <br />not from raki <br />but from hunger. <br />My brothers, <br />I'm European, I'm Asian, I'm American, <br />In this month of May <br />I'm not in jail or on a hunger strike, <br />But lying at night in a meadow <br />With your eyes as near to mine as the stars <br />And your hands in mine as a single hand <br />like the hand of my mother <br />like the hand of my helpmate <br />like the hand of life. <br />My brothers, <br />You, at least, have never abandoned me, <br />Not me or my country or my people. <br />I know that you love me and love what's ours <br />As I love you and love what's yours. <br />And for this <br />I thank you, my brothers, <br />I thank you. <br />My brothers, <br />I have no intention of dying. <br />And if I am killed <br />I know <br />I'll go on living <br />in your thoughts. <br />I'll live in the lines of Aragon- <br />in every line that describes <br />the coming of beautiful days- <br />And in the pigeons of Picasso, <br />And in the folksongs of Robson... <br />And more beautiful than anything else <br />more triumphant than anything else <br />I'll live in the jubilant laughter <br />of a comrade on strike day <br />in the port of Marseilles. <br />My brothers, <br />Since you really wish me to talk again, <br />I'm so happy, so happy, <br />that I spurt the words out!<br /><br />Nazim Hikmet<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-fifth-day-of-a-hunger-strike/
