Myriads: the poems carefully written,
And myriads too those penned without care.
That everything be remembered is the desire
Running through the author's brain.
Eulogies there are that praises the dead
Seeking to raise them above dust
To immortality for eternity.
There are sad ones.
Those that tell of bravery nipped in the bud
By the sword of betrayal.
Those that weep the loss of soul
Through the unease of disease.
Poems there are which tells into tears
The widow's unsung grief.
Some tell the agonies that entangle
The orphans plight.
Some ooze the blood of hungry children in Somalia
Some scare us into nightmares
With vivid pictures of men reduced to bones,
Of miseries of them whose broken hearts and heads
Cry out their request for death and yet are living.
Some mourn with weeping and wailing
The acerbity that wrings in the shattered hearts
Of those who no longer have any tears left to weep.
Some speak the silence of a contrite and weary spirit
Who lost an arm and a leg
In warfare the reason of which he is ignorant about.
Some break the heart with news of
Broken bones, broken heads, broken hearts, broken homes.........
I do not wish to say anymore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem