The north- east wind won a war
against the south easterlies,
Everywhere is ice cold
Still I pour water on him, one who is my debtor
I looked at him
His receding hairline and a bulging stomach
Where all debts hid.
He wore a sweeter
And its hood rested on his shoulders
A corpse I wished him to be
Next in a coffin
My eyes turned in dry tears
I wish I had my money before my dream
came true.
Why should I wish him dead?
Who will pay back my debt?
I had lost in every bid to wish him dead
Or have my money back.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem