Under the yoke of our mornings
the sun crumbles
and in the darkness of our steps
our panting breath is on fire
these incomplete homelands
in which we we appear to be
nothing more than prisoners of war
May peace cast his beam to your nation the brave nation nice poem you have painted the pain is words Glory to be Allah
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Pleaseeee