In this desert-like city
for ages I dug the graves,
sometimes aged people were buried
beneath the soil;
sometimes fairies were made to sleep
under the heaps of mud.
But now
In this desert-like city
I dig the graves,
and people bring the angles
to bury them forever.
Oh,
those smiling souls, soaked in blood:
I fear,
and my hands stagger;
my heart cries
as I behold the innocent faces
in that white cloth of death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem