'You do something.
They took away my boy'
Old tribal begged to the shaman
He remembered the city traffic
..a huge frightening
stone building with
a big clock on it..a large
room with Black-dressed people.
Suddenly silence fell over.
He saw his boy with policemen.
A black-dressed man held
a fat book to an ordinary man
and muttered. That man too
muttered, placing his palm
on the fat book and then pointed
a finger at the trembling boy.
'can...can you do something? '
Old man had full faith in
shaman's incantation.
Shaman was drunk. He drowsily
shook his head, after a while
said ' They're dangerous
people..that book is full
of Black magic..if you
touch it..you dead'
'But people there touch-'
'Fool! ! ' growled shaman
'-not for them..it's dangerous
for us' Old man's heart sank
If they'll make the boy touch-
Dam, how collecting driftwood
can be a crime? he thought.
For nothing he remembered
the big clock with those
dagger-like hands, those
Black-dressed people
And that fat book full
of Black magic
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem