It came as a lump in my throat, Had me crying aloud like a goat, Wearing pain like a coat.
Not to gloat, But pain knows my name.He tortures me—I swear it's his favorite game.
Feeling suffocated in this room, Whoa! I am slowly being led to doom.
Quick! I need to run.I need to find the Son, Run into His arms.I hear He calmsAll the storms.
I need Him to calm mineBefore these tearsSettle at my table and dine.
— Ziyanda Kuboni
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem