O World, when will you melt your crispy thin ice sheets?
From my love's path, who is innocent, yet she seeks for redemption.
She is so fragile and pure, yet suffers each day,
And finds solace in me, with our love, so pure.

O World, when will you burn the costumes of your wanderers which they wear?
Who call you their God, and land, their mother!
They hurt my lone love with utmost hate,
And bring only sorrow and malice, whenever she tries to keep her ruby eyes dry.

O People, you may stop my emotions' tide,
But not the pain and love I hold for My Aabo...