The echo of the last word,
Oh, so gently fades away,
And the room is left with silence
In the fading light of day.
Many times, still wet with teardrops,
Many times, still fraught with pain,
We'd give our lives to just recall them,
Just to take them back again.
Many hearts have suffered, broken;
Many souls have quietly bled,
Thinking, 'God! why have I spoken?
Can I make those words unsaid? '
Still, the echo dies away;
Never, ever more to say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem