have my heart
cried for joy and my tussle
of strength rushes to
the ground to vow my knee of
respect
even the stone hits
the bird with
a single shot, the feather touches
to the ground and
tumble with pain, for not s single
breathe loose to fall to the check without
the wisdom of pain
day has counted every blood
that drops to sand, rounded with
pain and misery to remember the
Sorrow that shouted to the last
hurry of hope
... my last breath holds my finger to
God
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem