Let's not complain of chill, wind, and snow
Although the snowstorm blows terribly fast,
The effulgent light also sneaks through the bullet holes
In the walls and rooftops of our ruined homes
Even the man who is rolled in an avelanche
Glimpses some light through the hole
Or feels sound of steps touching his ears
His heart overwhelms with a hope
That the avelanche shall melt down by the sun's heat
Or the kind-hearted passersby shall surely break it open
He is optimistic in a place out of reach
A lesson for those who are caught up in a deathtrap
That hope sustains life in distress indeed
Mykoul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem