All is left is ash
After fires play
No more black or white
It's the price you pay
Dark cloud dims the sun
Lets not through one ray
Dull and rainless sky
Is here to stay
Neither good nor evil
Neither night nor day
In still life yet not alive
Spirit slips away
Lacking strength or will
To curse or to pray
Numb and inert I whisper:
'Come what may'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem