The storm had began,
to hit the traveller again,
alone he is carrying,
some hope to reach the home.
His feet were bleeding,
his eyes full of sand,
and the place is too wild,
his life full of trouble.
The way to him unknown,
the night was too dark;
no star could be seen,
nothing, nothing, nothing.
The sound of sandy storm,
the thorns fill the way,
he is travailing alone,
he is going to torn,
he is going to torn...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem