The ever trapped souls, in the vault of black death,
lie engulfed by the flames of burning sadness, emerging from their thundering adversities.
At the heart of the thunderous pounding sound of devastating sadness, there is still a very soft whisper of calm voice,
whispering smoothly in pitchy black recesses of these troubled souls.
In a dungeon under the castle of their eternal misery, the prisoners of tough days are still digging an escape tunnel,
with the shovels of patience, and the axes of faith.
Despite the blurry vision of their dusty weary eyes,
A very faint beam of light could be hardly seen at the end of this black tunnel.
A very dim beam of light managed to pierce through the dense dark clouds of their perpetual pains.
Despite its faintness, darkness could not overpower it.
In an astonishing way, a feeble ray of light managed to renew their long-forgotten hope of escape.
Subtle draft of air also begins to be felt at the end of this suffocating humid tunnel.
Surprisingly, an imperceptible breath of air could revive an exhausted, breathless soul.
A fine breath of air could rejuvenate this desperate soul\'s hope of survival,
and make it able to push itself forward towards the end of this dark tunnel.
There is now a whispering voice that could be barely heard at the end of this silent tunnel.
The sound of the whispering hymn is stirring indescribable feelings within that soul.
Unspeakable feelings about something called life that can be felt amid the black trap of death.
A hymn about the butterflies that are dancing joyfully around the flickering sunbeams on the surface of the land of living.
The strong-willed sunbeams that managed to escape the somber clouds.
A hymn about the departure of harsh winter and the advent of enthroned spring.
A hymn about the long-awaited rebirth which is drawing near,
from the very heart of the black death.