It was war for a simple talk,
misunderstandings had shadowed
the view of what we are now.
I’m unable to tell
at what time we both
surrendered; putting away
our knives and taking off
our armour.
My matter is in my gratitude,
which reaches the brim of my heart’s cups
that we have been made friends,
from enmity.
And now I unknowingly
retrieve my armour
and weapons,
so happening that you are in
front of me; I cut you
or stab you
I don’t know why this happens,
but best I leave you, or keep a distance
not to hurt you longer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem