Light shows as out darkness wears,
And she cannot bear it so she tears,
Weeping for a generation instilled with fears,
Trembles and uncertainties of what the day bears.
It's in her that she imagines them grow,
Ninth is the month that pain cometh that non can borrow,
Uncertain are the years that she is to show them the flying crow
For soon they dig her into graves like furrow
All these will one day go from existence,
So like a moth she sticks to prayers with persistence,
Seeking guidance of how to keep up the fight of resistance,
And have others like her raising and weeping for a race in-existence
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem