A gray canvas had blanketed the sky
And shielded the eyes of the azure-blue,
Pink-painted morn. But despite the warning,
The storm, like my memory, reigned supreme.
The day was engulfed by a ghostly gray mist.
Its diffused reception shadowed my own.
The eerie silence, in its way, mirrored
The sentiments I found in an old diary.
From the morning mist, the sun was peeking
Out from the rainy gray... colors of light.
It reminded me how precious is a promise
And how, in sweet disguise, blessings arrive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem