Gentle soul, gentle sleep;
The grievance bestowed upon us.
It waded into our hearts:
Our joy, it withered, our fun confiscated.
Gentle sleep of a gentle soul;
The solemnity of our once cheerful faces.
Vigour of our hearts, where are they?
And our euphoric moods, like the wind, now beyond our grip.
Gentle soul in his gentle sleep,
But we are lost in such searing silence.
For many whys we do wail,
But to which when do we wait?
Now that time has refused to move;
also stuck in grieving the lost.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem