When will this feeling of great happiness
Splash within the hearts of everyone?
When will this mood of gloominess
Occupy the heart of no one?
When tinges of hope are shadowed by doubt,
Even where there seems to be a way.
Symbols of life are stricken by drought,
As fodder is preserved as hay.
Sometimes the wind blows but ends nowhere,
Heavy clouds forming with no liquid stains.
Often death seems to hide everywhere
And only shy's off when it rains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem