SL ( / )


O! The bitter memories disturb me not,
And rake not my injuries afresh,
For molten drops trickle no more,
Form the lusterless dry fountains.

O! The sweet memories you too fondle
No more with my pensive thoughts;
For smiles no longer enrich,
The furrowed fastidious lips,
And wrinkled cheeks emit no shine.

Went I through the decades of life,
Waiting for the turn of good times,
The descending generations might relish;
Waited I for the dreams to be realized,
Alas! They turned into the nightmares.

I see the leading characters of humanity,
Holding in their impatient itchy hands,
The balls of the fatal melting hellish fire,
And threatening from their black tongues,
That they would burn all roses with petals,
Transforming the world into furnace.

Standing on the brim of inferno I hear,
The spurting flames with merged cries;
Like an impressionless engrossed statue,
Being stunned I do neither weep nor smile;
Neither sweet songs please my sullen heart,
Nor pensive thoughts water my eyes.

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