When mourning voices wander,
and haunt the nights with wonder;
Panic not in fear,
For their dwelling is sorely near;
They are the singing floods,
chanting tones of fallen bloods.
The whimpering skies,
Shedding tears from ferocious eyes.
They are the halted hearts,
sobbing sorely like wounded harts.
Unripe souls, ripped from loamy flesh,
sent to Hades, tethered in serrated mesh.
They are the lightening of thunder,
capturing the scenes of murder.
The wild wind that trespass,
while we wait and let it pass.
Thus when mourning voices wander,
and haunt the nights with wonder,
panic not in fears,
if you are no cause of their tears.
David O. Olusanya
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem