You never know when will destiny,
snatch everything from your hands.....
Your most precious possession,
will no longer be yours....
you never imagine that something can be,
as cruel as fate....
That is the time you mourn,
a gloomy disposition you worn.
Never loose hope on such time,
as every cloud has a silver line.
like gold has to be burnt,
to earn its worth.
you have to suffer,
to earn more vigour.
Trust the ALMIGHTY in such dismay,
fruitful consequences will sprout,
Glorious will be your way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem