Death brought forward the news of birth.

Sharp cracking voice of the owl,

Crying of young vultures,

A young widow’s boundless sorrow,

All create a mist

By spreading a black veil

Of darkness-the horror.

 

Death moves around

In a formless form

Like a hungry wolf in the inevitable shadow!

Suddenly,

From the depth of darkness

A sharp cry “I have come”

Stamps its rebellion

In this world- the motherhood of a woman.

 

The news spreads its wing

To every corner

And proclaim the birth-freedom from the dark!

Death brought forward the news of birth.