Life is loaded with the episodes,
Many dismal but a few cheerful.
My son died,
A short awhile after his birth,
Came down from the heaven,
Went quickly beneath the earth.
Before we gave him a final wash,
And wrapped him in the shroud,
I opened his fist to kiss his hand,
With tiny fingers and little nails,
And glanced his lines on the palm,
Lifeline encircled the whole Luna
That meant he would live long,
More than a span of ninety years,
But it mocked by leaving us in tears.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem