When darkness sits majestically,
And calamities claim rights to existence,
When happiness is eroded,
By rushing waves of blood and tears,
Who do we turn to?
When hope is exiled from home,
And terror is lord of God's sanctuary,
When peace seems to prevail only in the cemetery,
Where we are nothing but nothing,
Who do we turn to?
When the corpse of fathers litter about paths,
And trampled upon by escaping youths;
When widowhood begin in the times of orphans
And barrenness becomes a gift,
Who do we turn to?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is so graphic I can almost see the picture of what you are saying. Very brief but loaded to the nines!