Don’t make noise,
The poor man is making love;
To his beautiful but hungry wife,
As Moon is spreading light above;
Don’t utter a word,
For the poor man looks tired;
He works hard day and night
For a pittance, he is being hired;
Don’t grin at him,
For game of love he can’t play;
How can one, who does not
Get a square meal in any single day?
You sound cruel,
To say, his wife lies still like a log;
Her veins tear in to shreds
As she turns her body on the rug;
Please, don’t laugh at him,
Someday, it may be your turn;
When there will be hunger in you,
Making love would not be fun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem