Different but same
In village, Khameneh
Came a guest, strange.
Of her child was aware
Single host, the mother.
To judge rest one has to
Be aware of culture!
Little boy everywhere
On way of his mother
Could not sit in silent.
Poor woman embarrassed!
What they had was melon
Single one, no other
For it boy had counted
Days and nights, all hours!
"Be good boy, get reward; "
Said parent to the child:
"You will own the skin."
Melon was tasty, good
Host ate then took spoon
To cut and scratch to its bone!
Shouted boy:
"Don't touch that, it is mine! "
Look of boy and that dog
Cuban, near hut, Havana's
Seem to talk exact same:
"Leave the bone, it is mine! "
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The narrative says much about the disturbed political atmosphere and its impact on the life of common people. The poet has been able to underscore their grim fate. Thanks.