These shackles are related to me for a long time
Like precious ornaments, they sat on my limbs for years
When ferocious loneliness in the prison would spread
On my mind like a desert, the jingles of shackles sounded
The world’s sweetest music to me
Now I am all free
Yet the sense of bondage lingers within me
Every day in the morning I sit on the cushy Sofa
And caress those symbols of slavery for no reason
My son asks me, ‘Papa, why do you play with the shackles?’
How can I convince him that now the shackles have entered my nature?
