The hands of time contain tales,
Rivers of blood filled with vengeance,
Submerged in layers of centuries,
Lie buried man’s errors.
Many a king, many a lord, and
Nobles too, rode in gilded chariots,
Gliding on Arab stallions,
Conquerors of deserts and seven seas,
Weighed down with fortune and fame,
Killing the valiant rebellions,
Who stood in their way,
Without an ounce of remorse.
The night has untold tales,
Listen to the soft whisperings,
Of the forest sparrows choir,
Echoing melodies of deathly grief.
Even today, the forsaken tales,
Blood sucked into the earth’s crust,
Sing quiet, mellow symphonies,
Of innocent ones, slain in vain,
The mountains roar of injustices.
The sky frowns upon man,
In whose arms the blade,
Of jealousy slits love,
The rain and thunder speak,
Of betrayal on land and sea.
The heavens weep, tears of grief,
Screaming songs of sorrow,
Heavy grief pours down,
unstoppable torrents of rain.
Alas, the heavens bleed, an anguish,
Unable to bear the sins of Adams kin,
They too shed tears of blood-soaked rain
Streams, rivers, lakes, oceans
All burdened with our inglorious past.