In his last days
He became so much quiet
Deep inside that silence
There were unvoiced but expressed protests—
The suicidalmystery of a murderer
Finally,convulsed the society
It's such a death, for which even a poet needs to be
A detective and researcher
to compose an elegy. If not a professional killer,
Who could cut himself into pieces, like this,
And could fill a huge Kitchen bowl?
Screaming from a lonely home
Blood is pouring into the sewerage— ah,
Would we able to stop killing? unnatural death?
A bunch of truth entered into
and befitted in the kitchen bowl—
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
it's really an ironical poem! scared I'm in reading ////