Ah! when the heart bleeds
When the brain thinks not
But vague and parched
Wanders through valleys
Where thorns grow
The thorns that hurt
The feet
The thorns that hurt
The head
Throttle
The parched throat
The Voice that sung
At last
The day will come
When that Voice sings not
When the waters of Babylon
Too much of exile taste
To drink
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem