Here sits the widow silent and pale, from the heart of darkness her sorrows hail. Mournful eyes, shattered thoughts, bloodless veins and soundless calls.

With her broken heart her mind would plea, her eyes are open but unable to see. A saddened look, and a tired heart, an endless journey that tore her apart.

Entrapped within, avoid of time, where the moaners sing, and misery rhymes. In the kingdom of grief, the widow resides, where the temples are haunted, and pain abides.

In the halls of hope the grievers meet, in search of comfort and a blissful seat. In total humility their hearts would pray, for peace of mind and a happier day.

Saleh Ben Saleh