Badr Shaker Al-Sayyab Complete poetic works 2/1

And how many times I called during my sleepless days or its nights: Oh my mother, come, for the moon is pouring my drinks and healing me. The snow groans, and the ravens croak from the depths in it, and between my soaked bed and the bottom with rain and your grave, the rivers rage and the seas roar to the bottom, shaken by the hurricane. Did the wind carry to you through the tranquility of the night the crying of your grandchildren from the depths and your hungry grandson? We have become hungry, and in silence, we bore the hunger and deprivation. And our secret is torn apart as children cry out in pain. Is there hunger in the homeland that sheltered you? What sorrows disturb the eyes of the dead?