…I was talking to myself when suddenly I saw that we entered the police station.

But I wish I hadn't seen | My father is bound on the board, facedown. | His hands and feet are bound, his heel is separated | His hair is messy, dirt is sitting on his body. | "May my life be sacrificed for you and not see this day | that your hand is tied, and your authority is gone.", I say. | I see dozens of policemen standing on both sides of the station | The gun is in their hands and the bayonet is ready on the gun | Their heads are iron helmets and they're ready to run | As if they are ready for a deer to be released and fall on it | and squeeze the violet's throat, so that it doesn't promise spring. | The officer has a big whip | The soldiers are on their feet. | I am now like a restless lamb | I want to run to my father | But the man doesn't let… | _Part of the poet's autobiography in Jinga