In this country,
Poetry is an aged mother.
She can support you with maternal love,
But cannot put
One morsel of food in your mouth
With her palsied, feeble hands.
Decorate the walls of your house
With her presence,
Worship her, sing her praises,
But do not seek anything from her.
She will burst into tears;
If your heart overflows,
Rest your head on her lap.
For the present,
Take up the yoke, spin the wheel,
Make your shoulders sturdy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem