Silthering seams simmering in cold-blooded wilderness;
Filhandering the sugarcane of our yesteryears,
Marred and charred in untold woes and worries.
Shall our mouths forever be agape?
Shall our ears, whitewashed, shall ever fetter in this winnowed pain?
Much is our feeble shuffling
Much is our frequent pinned-down anger
Side-stepping cries at our corridors!
What in God's name shall we conceive of our self-deserved malady?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem