It stings my heart
When I hear a scream!
Yes, a scream; but that of a victim
Dwarfed by the virus in the air
Spreading by the dare-devils
But greed the architect
Do not mind if I scream, nor you
Hence satisfied when they creep up
To get stronger their in-equity
And satisfy their tastes
With the cold and worm dishes:
Dished out of grief
By the tenacious hearts-
Crawling to survive and eradicate
Seeking to make pure our breaths,
So they could die of hunger
Or live the same, or shorter than before
To be heard or seen by none from the paradise.
It stings my heart
When the dare-devils with the virus
Strong and inextricably linked
Surfaces the virtue.
With their in-equitable practice
Will they mind if you scream?
For they live longer by it
But healthier than happy
Yet their merriment
Lures many to sleep
Snoring their names in praises
But can't be pleased in heaven
For this paradise is death!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I think you need to conserve your energy and composure; screaming does not help much. I had learnt that first hand.