They cook up
Things against me
And wherever I walk
They stub my steps.
I am not the reason
Why the fire on the
Cock's head doesn't burn.
I am not the cause
Of the fisherman's expedition
Ending in a netful of crabs.
Their eyes are red at me,
I am not the reason
Why the toad
Went late to the
Meeting of the animals
And the tail eluded it.
I am not the reason
Why their lances are blunt
And grasses are growing
At their doorsteps.
Neither am l the one
That is the rain maker.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem