Before dawn in a back alley
I write your name, Democracy.
My thoughts long ago turned from you,
and long, long ago my steps turned away.
The single fragment remaining, memory
of my burning heart-thirst.
Where no one knows, Democracy,
I write your name.

In some back alley that dawn has not
reached, the sound of steps, a whistle, someone
pounding on a door,

the single, long, extended cry, the sound
of groans, wailing, sighs, and within these,
within my very core,

above your deeply engraved name,
above the desolate brilliance of your name

the pain of life reviving,
the memory of clear blue freedom,
of the blood-stained faces of friends dragged away
reviving,

with trembling hand and heart,
in trembling, teeth-chattering rage

on a wooden plank
with white chalk
in an unfamiliar hand
I write these all down.

And choking, sobbing,
I write your name where no one knows.
In burning thirst,
burning thirst

Democracy, long life!