See her in stitches,
see her limping with crutches;
her stitches are sewn here and there,
her pains,
who can bear?
See her groan in vain;
while her oil pours like rain.
Yet she strives to win the fight; that has left her in this painful plight.
The offices have all been bought,
but still a messiah is sought;
who will wipe the tears?
and chase the fears?
Our land have been wounded,
but the time for healing has come,
for our terrors have been jilted;
amidst the mighty cries,
an uproar of jubilation is heard.
Heal our land, Heal our hearts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem