Emptiness will keep walking like a soul
without a body, without a place to rest,
hopes of joy will turn into grief
many scores of trust will turn into dust;
no one will feel the pain,
the impact will be so alone
no one will ever want to judge,
how bitterly will cry this heart;
in those yesterdays of tomorrow,
in those yards of love
he spun that fabric of trust in me,
a strength in reliance in me and him;
only can death stain the joyousness
and descend solitude and gloom
upon the child that waits for his father,
upon that wife who depends on her husband
only for love, only for togetherness;
and as their palms will lay him to rest
the weight of lost treasure
at the bottom of an ocean will sink
irretreivable sadness will splash upon
those faces which silently dreaded the tomorrows
uphevealed by that very thought that promised
he would never indulge himself
in the institution called absence from home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem