Slowly I walked the white corridors,
cringing at the bareness and cold.
I hated the hospital, its pervasive smell
of antiseptics and sickness but even more
my ubiquitous feelings of helplessness.
With a heavy heart I held her hand.
Emaciated by the disease,
she was all bones and skin.
Fear and hope long gone,
she awaited the grim reaper.
Her children had abandoned her,
her eyes reflected their betrayal.
I could only share in her grief,
despair and disillusionment.
To her life is but suffering and death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem