A drunkard's wife,
The pains of her life and living,
None but a drunkard only knows it,
Can feel it about
The drunkard coming as usual
After the drink,
Talking sweetly, staggering,
Babbling and quarrelling,
Weeping and laughing himself.
A drunkard
Lost in drinks and emptying bottles
Has nothing to remember
Or feel about family prestige,
His run a run to the ale shop
And emptying of the bottle
And still the heart wants more
After fallen flat.
Near the drains, on the sideways,
The edge of the roads
Or into the bushes,
Coming late into the night
Or lying fallen under the attic
Of the skies full of twinkling starts
And the shining moon
And the stray dogs with
Caressing him, licking the mouth
And he singing a sad song
Which can melt anyone
Who hears him
Or gets a chance
To hear him,
How did he turn
Into a drunkard
Even though wanted he not
To be a drunkard.
Fell into a bad company
Which the parents cautioned,
But cared not for,
Took not he words,
Now the company, friends and society
Taking a toll upon
With bruises and falls and brawls.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem