So many are the times I have tried.
How so hardly have I strived.
Striving towards this dream,
Trying to make it real.
But now here I am sat.
Puzzled and hanging like wet.
Hopeless and tortured am I.
Hours and trials, they pile.
As meters ahead turn to miles.
My weakness is strong.
And all my strength is gone.
I’ve worked so hard, why must I stop?
Now triumphant seems to be a myth.
And it seems wise to retreat.
Because all my dreams are like ghosts.
By dawn they are always gone.
With all my zeal faded and lost.
How am I meant to endure?
But faith is the last weapon I’m left with.
Though so small and unseen, it will never miss.
With a small sound of a whispering voice.
Saying; “your tears will not come back void.
God has heard your cry.
It’s only just a matter of time.
Just believe and never give up.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem