Today I began to sing again,
Somewhat louder than the cry,
That I still cannot avoid
But that I can now bear,
Wrapped around me like a cloak.

Music knows how to call back,
That which was previously lost,
Through not knowing how to love,
Or not wanting to stand out,
And was buried in oblivion.

No fissure is too deep,
For us to climb out of,
The deepest darkness,
Can with a pure white light,
Be pierced.

A few notes on a chain,
impregnate a melody,
And out of ashes and sand,
Shoots of hope can grow,
And give birth to joy.

My mother in her sadness,
Cried tears of song,
With great skill,
And painful beauty,
Music was her daily lament.

My song is my poetry,
Toneless, painful, and impure,
It is not a song of joy,
But sadness provides release,
And hope endures.