What do you mean
you stole the devil's gourd—
his oath‑bound hoard?
How, son?
Did you touch
what sears the hand,
what poisons the tongue
till the nerves go numb?
Did you think
the devil won't come collecting?
Or that smoke won't follow
you to your own dwelling?
Have you forgotten
your home is but a sinkhole?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem