The sky hung low o’er Stirling brig,

Wi' blood upon the heather sprig.

The pipes were still, but hearts beat loud -

A lion stirred beneath its shroud.



Frae forest glen tae castle stane,

The cry was clear, “we’ll bow tae nane!”

A nation bound in iron chain,

Rose wi’ Wallace, fierce an fain.



A common man, yet bold as kings,

He bore nae crown, but freedom brings.

Wi' broadsword drawn an fire-eyed grace,

He faced the foe in battle’s face.



The fields ran red, the winds did mourn,

For sons that widnae see the morn.

But in each death, a cause was born -

A land tae love, a fate scorn.



He didnae seek the laurel’d prize,

But justice for the wee the weemen’s cries.

Nae tyrant’s word, nae English law,

Could crush the dream he aye foresaw.



Though treachery did strike him doon,

An hung him ‘neath a foreign toon -  

Still Scotland hears his fearless name,

A martyr set in Freedom’s flame.



So let the wind through Wallace run,

Through stone and soil, through blood and sun.

For in each Scot that dares tae say,

“We’ll aye be free”- lives Wallace’s day.

Love for you
Stuck to my heart,
Like chewing gum
To disheveled hair.
It is necessary
To get rid a part of myself
To find freedom.

What do I want? The meaning, I guess.
But only such as can fill me whole,
All my gaps and all my holes.
Yes, I want such meaning, I guess.

What else, you ask me? Freedom, I guess.
Where I won’t be in the grips,
Where the pain won’t throb in my temples.
Yes, I want such freedom, I guess.

What do I dream of? Silence, I guess.
No sounds, no creaks, no rustles at all,
A calm pulse and the air in whole.
Yes, I dream of such silence, I guess.

Last time when the dust turned blue
a new kind of rain erupted
like pellets bouncing off the ground
realizations poured over our heads
last time I laid flat on a road
and challenged the force of decisional wind
protesting the passage of time
swallowing images of mountain range
from the highest point in the city
last time I felt so dearly in love
with the color of the sky
with the way things go,
with the touch of new life
last time I got to know my own breathing
was when, just like this,
in seasonal change, fragments of old self
came to accompany on a journey
through a new day

Waiting for the one,
Single perfect moment when I,
Finally, feel free.

When I breathe and it,
Feels like I am alive and,
Everything is fine.

When that moment comes,
Appreciation will spread,
Smiling happily.

A vine crept through the cracks in stone,
Soft hands in thorns,yet not my own.
It drank from rain I never poured,
Bloomed in silence I never adored.

I clung like dusk to weary light,
A shadow that kissed me every night.
Its voice ,a rustle in my flame,
Calling me gently by no name.

I built my walls of glass and steel,
Yet still in taught the stone to feel.
A wildflower in my ordered maze,
Lit wildfires in my quite days.

It wrote its verses on my skin,
lines I never let begin.
An still sang in every breath-
A haunting hymn too soft for death.

I never sowed,I never fed,
Yet love bloomed where logic bled.
And now I walk with roots entwined.
By a garden I dared not find.