The icicles reflect the moon light.
Snow falls like stars from the sky on a dark cold night.
The trees along the street shadow the transcendent faces.
All are gone and forgotten in this world without a trace.
Why has god not heard their prayers?
Broken spirits filled with despair?
Who will speak for these lost souls?
Who will embrace them with strength and might.
Carry them through this cold night.
Denial of divinity does not mean
true absolution. Prayer for them is the only resolution.
Do they believe there's a state of grace to atone?
There poor souls are caught between life and death alone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem