The love and concern
Of parents are waste
For the thankless adults.
But the time when
Loneliness was fearful,
When darkness led to cry
The providence of parents
Was valuable.
At present, the love of mother,
Who bore, is disgrace.
The concern of father,
Who have always held
Near to his heart, is shameful.
The stories they told,
The games that they played with,
The immemorable kisses that they gave
And everything that they spent
Have vanished.
Without thinking of
The childhood and senility of selves
The old parents are pushed
To the edge of the house.
So be prepared
For the dark rooms
In the senility.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem