At a dark hour the news is broken:
Grandma has passed away last night.
The hour has passed, and no more is spoken,
For no word nor action can make it right.
The world at present is no more real,
Than the memories and thoughts seizing my mind,
While regrets and sorrows are all I feel,
Of fruitless days that were left behind.
Her pain foregone now confounds my own,
In desert of shame and guilt I bear alone.
I wish and hope and pine and pray,
But tears have not yet come my way;
For which I despise myself to the bone,
And thereby shudder and cower in dread,
Of my baleful heart on its ruthless throne.
Our steps are slow, against the nipping blow
Of wind that roughs the few leaves on the boughs,
From which they barely dangle, care not for show,
And rustle high aloft the yellow routes.
Like a heavy wailing train forward we go,
Our steps are slower still, though not for cold,
Until we reach the moist and fallow soil,
Her old friends, and children well into their prime,
Most flanked with their own, all deep in duteous toil,
To say goodbye to my dear grandma one last time.
As through the falling leaves this she would say:
Why is all the sadness on your face,
For I am here and hear you pray?
To all of us, at this peaceful place,
Where the earthly noise is sent away,
And all the rest is here to stay.
From the same love she bears for us
As that which we bear for her,
Comes the beauty of its truth:
For eternality it grows unshakable,
And you and I are no more divisible,
For love binds us all together as one whole.
My heart again shudders, though no longer in pain nor fear,
While my eyes and cheeks are warmed with tears,
As her lasting love reveals to me in awe:
I must heal my wound and mend my flaws,
So we may meet anew in a blissful place,
Ever rapt and hallowed with joy and grace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem