Slow as love descends,
Death is a paid actor,
Who performs to all kinds of beings,
Whether young or old,
Rich or poor,
It pours like rain,
Blows like wind,
Before you knew,
There it echoes like a hurricane,
Lifting eyebrows with tears,
Just like mud,
It sticks pain to the heart,
To those we loved and hated,
It is a missile of separation and destruction.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem