Ugly images of life Are drawn by me about our reality That makes hard stones cry... All my images and my pictures are Drawn masterly in my poems Simply because I have to do so... There are pregnant clouds up in the skies, but There are no rains... All spikes of grain are completely Empty and useless... All streets and all roads in our city Are absolutely untrodden by any people Simply because all people Got perished by that ongoing war... People are hungry and thirsty Anywhere and everywhere... If I keep drawing more and more pictures, then They will be endless... ______________________________________________________________________
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I felt such pain reading your sad poem. I wish you peace.