When pitch-dark night lodged complaints to the sun,
About the seeming darkness of its soul
Once silver moon comes not to bring the fun,
As no star witnesses opt to console;
What court can try the merits of its case?
What law upholds the righteousness it seeks;
Or mercy, if to hope of saving grace,
Or else, doom, if with foulest scents it reeks?
But cradled by night were the souls of sleep,
As dreamers wait for morn, a newer spark,
Of new wars to win, or loss to weep,
Then pray succeeding nights won't be as dark;
......So these will be as woes that past forgot,
......As Love can understand what mind could not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem