...Departing faint deep- black color showed on me As the pain's wings are fluttering slowly inside of my soul. The periodic breeze is scattering hardly and browning Into oblivion as I will disappear like this way with my conviction And faith Something flies out of me but returns. It is opressing me Trying to strangle me and it stops when become darkness. The present will be the past and the past is: Our soul moved into the orphanage and our faith Fell into four pieces. The faint black wind is scattering outside but a new one is born As complaint like the rain with the storm and sheds painful tears Of our nation...