Bruises in her heart,
Dusk drumming over her poll
Dingy nights and foggy clouds
No sunbeam, no moonbeam ahead...
Darkness cloaks her soul,
As she dwells in Cimmerian heath.
She couldn't animate her zest,
And chokes with each whack
For her eyelids too frail
To kiss the pitch-shades.
Tears faintly creeped her cheeks,
Yet none to soothe and extend hands
To hold and cross the pool of pangs,
Kinsfolk walked out on her,
Spouse, too freaked to usher.
She opts her last clinch,
For no longer could she live,
Her last accessories-the twine and the ceiling fan,
She commits to her stiffed decision,
She's now free from mortal throes,
Lord knows where her soul heads,
We pray, May her soul rests in peace!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That's very sad. will pray for her, real or hypothetical.