All alone in quorantine,
I am twice as homesick,
As I was in a foreign land,
My soul weeps, and
My heart wrenches,
When brothers carry coffins,
Each of them with a grave sickle,
But I get surprised,
When they find missing,
Their brother in the coffin,
Consumed by the Coronavirus,
Who has buried him?
And where?
In an unmarked grave!
But, it isn't a custodial killing
Mykoul
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I would like to translate this poem