I’m no slave, yet you pit me here.
The verge of death's grave.
To sleep, weep in the mudded dirt.
You take away my body’s tattered shirt.
I’m no slave, you wretched tyrant.
You loud- mouthed, fat- bellied master.
It is not you, whom I fear, no.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem