All those lanes of poverty
Are a revelation from another land;
The seas dismount the wild crust,
Unleashing hurting particles of water.
Those with a fraction of strength
Instil the remedy of a relentless way;
A sea dismounts due to the lands
That it erodes and demands.
My poor people have a poorer taste
Due to the factions and parties.
My weaknesses outlast them indeed,
My strengths have become too fierce.
Poor are you who defuses the bomb
Inside the lane of regret and solitude,
A smoke is forcing into the corridors
Of a well-spoken gentleman so definite.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem