All night rain pelted the iron bars,
hoping to reach,
through newspaper ravings, poison and lies,
truth and sympathy.
To clear from the dirt,
the simple word - conscience,
restoring the living link
between him, who he was, and who he is now.
Between a crack of the prison courtyard,
shoots up an emerald sprout.
Its path is slow and difficult,
pushing from dawn to dark.
Such a similar path truth must make,
through the lies and foam of disputes.
And history will evaluate,
and history will understand.