Thinking him a man, I stretched out
My right hand towards him.
As soon as I kept my hand on his hand,
My hand got wet with a horrid smell.
After then, washing my hand many a time with ashes
And sweet-smelling soaps,
Bathing in the rivers
And in all the oceans of the world,
I sprayed perfumes, sacredness, hatred and love
In my whole body
Still from this right hand and from this body
That horrid inhuman smell did not vanish anyway.
Now I brood over that hand--
Alas! Was it the hand of a fox scratching corpses?
Or was it the hand of a vulture or of a hyena?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem