Every morning sun rises with a hope-
That the help will come from the west,
And the wind will change its direction.
Yet, only word flows from the big mouth~
While we suffer heavy casualties at their hands,
Our displaced citizen finds few supplies to survive another day.
Is history not repeating when Byzantine Emperor Constantine XI
Turned to Western Europe for help and the attempted union failed.
Though some Western individuals came to defend the city on their own account.
The hope and the wait for support, has reached its pinnacle,
The time has taken away the focus of media and the attention of allies,
The ignition has left the fire burning for self-destruction,
The tunnel seems far longer and the light seems elusive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem