On top of the fur of the tiger,
She lays a goat leather bag,
In the bag full of skeletons,
And smelly traditional mixtures,
She coughs and hum songs,
Spiritually linked to the ancestors,
Collecting messages and prescriptions,
She shakes and dissociate the skeletons on the tiger fur,
It draws up some paragons,
She hails 'Hai! Hai! ',
Meticulously she listens,
To the ancestral spirit roaming within the room,
She marks my body with a razor,
Blood associates my body,
She takes the mixtures and apply them to the marked-blood points,
I feel a needle-like pain,
A cramp over the points,
She says 'It all will work out.'
She keeps me protected from dogs that bark at my world,
The enemies who are after my success,
Those whom I call them true friends,
The beautiful sinners,
Finally she protected me from them!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem