Guitar, see there,
Mine and I have
Given to you
A token of love.
But dear, alas,
It all turned
Into a subject
Of hatred
By you.
I know you,
And your guise
Through the guitar.
I know you
Black fire.
Guilty, you are
To say, not daring.
But in our own gulf
I tear your snare.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem