Peace comes not shouting through a broken day,
But settles in like dusk on tired land;
It softens grief that would not go away,
And calms the pulse we struggle to command.
Solace is found where silence learns to stay,
Where wounds are held, not hurried into cure;
It teaches hearts that healing has its way,
Unseen, unforced, imperfect, yet secure.
No promise seals the future free of pain,
No charm prevents the ache of what must pass;
Yet peace endures where sorrow leaves its stain,
A quiet strength that forms in fragile glass.
Thus peace and solace meet where truth is clear:
Not all is mended—yet the soul can rest here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem