We are surrounded by the sirens of maternal cries.
The ashes have fallen, keep falling, and black are the skies.
Fear and panic arises in the eyes of the helpless spectators;
Shock numbs hands, arms, legs, and heart, unable to more forward.
These are the days of our people:
We are broken and chaotic, all running from the steeple.
No one sees the sun that disrupts the black,
And everyone runs aimlessly, gripping their hungry past.