The very last of it shall be
When locust, bees shall plague
On your daughter's till day-break
But until then, don't call me
I will forbid you, your unborn
To greet my doorstep with sob
I will repel your acclamation
And leave thee to thy sorrowful cup
The very last shall be it end
Now that the curtain had fallen
Your evil show, and nothing was earned
But grief and grief so appalling
For in many black nights, tears floods
With a slap of time against odds
These times you dine on lions head
Whilst hunger usher my daughter to bed
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem