In the village there was no a
Trace and face of a man to be seen
All were in the long mountains
That touched the heavens
For a humiliation of
Being grinded on a ground,
They would not allow
But, my father was
The only one
In the village
Dismissing all about
The issue.
In his garden,
With Varden
They wandered
As winds and soldiers
Bent and grinded
The heads of
Carots and peanuts
As the soldiers continued
To ward
The garden
And my father and Varden,
Grinding the vegetation
Without a reflection,
Zoro barked again and again.
And despite their comand,
My father would not allow
To be grinded on the ground
To be grinded on the groung
Instead would fly and leave
His boot behind
Losing his mind,
And would not look behind
For his boot
And the soldiers too
Would not look forward
For our dog'sbark, Would not allow
To bend and grind on the ground
To bend and grind on the ground
As they had come with winds
They would return
Bending and grinding
The vegetation without
A reflaction.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem