Picking up the handset I was stunned with surprise:
Whose voice as light as falling leaves in cold skies?
Isn't it ten years, ten odd years, dear mother,
Just in silence to miss and long for one another?
I left without any promises or pledges that day:
The old wild horse from its forest-land went astray.
Ten years for Mom's hair to turn mourning white,
And mourning-like my soul also in such a plight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem