I create poem
It concerns them
As day to day incidences
Are woven and painted at once
I feel in it mother’s sob
I feel young man’s cry for job
Family prays for peace at home
Yet with smile it is prepared tow welcome
I feel some pain
When lashes out rain
In cuckoo’s voice I hear no melody
We know they have lost home already
Everybody is refugee
There is no scope for all to be free
In one way or other, it is treacherous
There are attempts to cause it as murderous
Life has become cheap
Thee is no harvest to reap
How the peace should be kept?
I have often wept
I write with force
The pain is behind of course
Yet I hope for bright sun
The night may certainly cool
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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