April 10, in the Dutch East Indies, tranquility begins the day
The wind and scorching sun silences the bay
Individuals unaware of the calamity to invade
A calamity that will savagely kill and raid.
The morning birds sing about their glee
Unaware of the catastrophe to be
Mount Tambora appears to reached its end
Erupting and mercilessly ending everything that stands.
This diary will record the last moments of this place.
What being did we anger to be placed in this disgrace?
May this diary record our sorrow,
And let our prayers be answered tomorrow.
It happened too sudden, a day that had received blessings from the Lord,
Had turned our backs, and created behold,
A tragedy that ended many individuals lives,
The prosperous, flourished lives we strived,
Had been seized and deprived.
The rumbling of the Earth, shook the homes
The vibrations and trembles were felt in our bones.
A dark cloud submerges in the shape of a dome.
The island had been swept by panic and cries.
Unpreventable itch and tears fills our eyes.
Fire! The village has been swallowed by immense flames
The crops and yields once generously bathed in rains
Has now been consumed by the red waves
That devours anything that it craves.
Another wave of tremor shook the Earth,
It appears this time, caused the tsunami’s birth.
A wave of seawater swallowed the village
Numerous people swept by the spillage.
Oh grace! What sins have we committed to be buried in this misery?
I pray our suffrage will be remembered in history.
My throat and lungs feels as if it is congested
Dehydration and hunger, fills us like we are infested.
Water and food becomes scarce.
Anyone to leave the island, the sea dares.
Days go by without the peak of sunlight,
Any trace of life are left in fright.
Our homes remain nothing but ash.
The minimalist lifestyles we had,
Have gone and seized in a flash.
Crops are unable to flourish.
Our neighbors and friends have gone malnourished,
Ten thousand has died thus far
Oh, may their souls be guided with the star.
They say ninety thousand has died from this.
The people are still far from bliss.
The smell of ash has slowly dismissed.
But the dead are remembered and dearly missed.
I pray this island will recover,
And I hope my recordings and our grievances will be discovered.
I am one of the fortunate few that remains.
I hope our prayers are not in vain.
May this island strive, like it did once.
Maybe it will soon, in a day, or many months.
The eruption of Mount Tambora has put the people in despair
However, I have heart that that island will repair.
I close this last word with my last breath
As I know soon I will approach my death.