Lo, I heard the hate from your brother.
I stood in disbelief of his angry.
Then I heard the murder from your mouth.
To which you instantly denied what was uttered.
And I remembered my father's rage to me with that same truth.
Then we came home, and my first sight was my sisters face.
Death was spoken to me, but death was done to her.
And now I live with the hate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem