Are they rhyme?
The fingers are carved,
Carved in free verse,
Each arm, with five stanzas,
With unequal lengths,
And unequal weights.
Still, They formed a cluster,
And an hand.
Always, in one, two come together,
To spoon your mouth.
So, do not mock,
The poor man,
Who works day and night,
For he doesn't know,
How his head was carved.
Whenever your basket reap the farm;
Remember the god of rain,
Whenever your mouth eats;
Remember the Have-nots.
Look at your fingers,
Are they rhyme?
Still, they dwell in unity,
With each doing its part.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem