It was a cold winter,
I’m in deep sorrow,
My bosom got heavy with cry,
And she’s not there to borrow, or to listen,
She just watched my neck strangling, dangling,
I was struggling to utter, my hands were tied,
She neither screamed nor took assay to untie.
Only vexation and worry,
Where to find the place to bury!
No guilt in her eyes or gratify,
She’s neither good lover nor better wife,
Don’t you just watch?
Please cut my gullet with knife.
Hold me one last time,
My eyes got heavy,
“I felt your hatred, it’s better than your love, ”
I whispered in her ears,
“Now God knew your crime,
Your gloves can’t hide your hands there.”
I coughed blood from my throat.
She threw me on floor, and started to white her clothes.
I was losing my breath,
And she was wishing for my death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem