Just as every other,
It was another new day,
But featuring the murder-
Of a helpless prey.
A lonely grandmother
In a small village,
Living not much farther-
Than the hater of her age.
A raging lunatic,
Void of good reasoning;
Proven unromantic
By his fate already drizzling.
While life was good,
In her quiet room-
She ate her tasty food.
Oh! The mad one stroke
And marred without joke-
The granny in her empty house.
“Kocho” she pleaded,
With her both hands lifted;
Her plea was loud
But her voice too low-
To beckon a savior.
He sliced her hands to the ground
And her food she couldn't swallow;
Torn apart with a hatchet,
Bitterly dug with a knife of hatred.
A battle unfair;
The mad versus the old,
A granny so dear;
Sent off by a foe.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem