You hear but do not see,
You feel but do not see,
Through the winds you can almost touch,
But nothing,
Trees, still, now ache in its force,
Its power released to the world,
Hail is its red carpet,
A crosshair for destruction,
Rumbling, its speaks to the sky,
Its rage unstoppable,
Taking a form of wild beasts, it rampages,
It attacks with the strength of light
You stay in cover,
Awaiting for it to Passover,
It destroys but in our eyes we marvel,
It takes no prisoners.
The once bright heavens, left weary and wasteful,
Desolated sky, beaten clouds,
Continuous darkness,
Unending sounds of it faultless path.
Time whistles by.
The storm moves on,
Others will witness its wrath,
Others will seek for it again,
A hint of light in the air,
Rises anew.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem