I am not mad
At doing my things
When I let still
The trigger of my gun
It is for peace to sprout
In the land.
When I let my hook
Into the water without a bait
It is to free a fish of harm.
When deaf-mute I become
It is to train my tongue
For sometimes
The things we refuse
To do like refusing to steal
Definitely bring us esteem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem