Infinitely the stars they arise like the tears in my black eyes for the once mine, Kneka Evans,
Finitely they fall for the heartbreak of us all who have shut their window to the heavens.
Hurled upon the earth in a sorrowful birth, cruelly, they water the ground below, and with many mordant a year to flower into flowers of mourn and woe.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem