Pressures mount, brows distort,
Anxious hands tremble, and it's an hour before.
Lips utter sacraments as eyes wander desperate,
Faces hidden in hands, hopes begin to fall,
Nervousness hangs thick, mouths go dry,
Palms become wet, and breath becomes short.
Upon this moment's fate, their lives will hinge,
Empty minds on a knowledge binge.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem