The remembrance of the voice,
That once echoes into our ears,
Is now silence,
Silence with no edge of sound.
The river that once flows with smile,
Is now barefooted and dry;
Barefooted standing within shadows,
Filled with pain of tears.
The wind that once blew,
Is now calm without a wink.
Sinking within depth of death,
Leaving tears running down tables of the chic.
The mirror that once reflect,
Is laid on the ground broken;
Broken with scars,
Deep without healing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem