A photograph of a small girl
Taken by her heart-broken father
Shows his daughter in hospital
Pretty, bare-chested but in dreadful pain
Her mouth rictus clinched
Tears in her desperate eyes
Waiting for something, anything,
That offers relief and reliving -
She is only four years old
Dying in torture from cancer.
If I or perhaps more likely you
Had faith as much as a grain of mustard
This mountain could be moved
But then again not a speck or mote
Has ever been brought to atonement
From the very beginning of the universe
Though seeds have been long planted
And offerings asked of the bereaved:
Faith is too fine a grain for us it seems -
The dust of love is all we have at hand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Faith is too fine a grain for us it seems. A dust of love even does magic with beauty of expression. Brilliant poem is amazingly expressed...10