Quickly I sat and repelled talk about myself,
The mountain cats stung me and sang aloud
Their song of strong tears that seemed to be burden,
Like the wrong talk they obliterated from me.
I sat and quickly stroked the page with my pen,
This time the worries of years overtook the pen
And the writing from my ink was stolen.
It will accompany the load of the mother,
Items of clothing are banned for the father.
This wretched state of the way we lead
Is due to the seating arrangements that were made.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem