Octave Poem by Martins Akhoeneto
Octave
For years, deep silence slept upon their home,
While milk-filled vessels brimmed and overflowed;
Through painful smiles, the hidden ache still showed,
As though her head were bound in chains of stone.
Then May's veiled skies began to break their gloom,
And trembling clouds released their rain above;
The tender cries of infants spoke of love—
A joyful cry that made the house a home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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8/27/2026 12:14:32 AM # rel_20260826T082754Z_99b456e
