Some quietly stand on the steps of a door like a book on the shelf waiting to be read.
It is not that they never sigh with despair, it's not that they never feel the dread.
Hope is what they hold so dearly in their hearts and patience to keep that flame alive.
Hope and patience give them the strength to pass through infernal rigours.
They validate their struggles, arrest the wilt of their will,
And when pierced by thorns of doubts,
They help them bloom and thrive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem