Help me O’ my Lord, to survive the
Brutal attack on the tender heart.
Those were not his words, still ringing in my ears,
It’s a molten iron poured ruthlessly.
These are not the tears, gushing out from my eyes,
It’s the blood oozing out from the ripped heart.
These are not the words, surfacing in my poems,
It’s the feeble mourning of my gentle muted soul.
Save me O’ my Lord, from sinking in the
Ocean of sorrows, for the sake of my child.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
We must condemn nicely penned I welcome