The hanging drumstick
sways from the branch
my broken hand in the sling
feels warm;
a quill flutters and flies
I measure my body weight;
you measure yours.
A thatched house
catches fire, wind gushes
people run in
still some are careless
at the other end
enjoy cockfight
and the temple bell rings.
Evening-silence breaks
some gossip and some cry
when some others
carry the bier
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem