On the feet of Love and Loyalty,
Are the sores of pains and pangs,
On the palms of Hopes
There are pricked tiny slips of
Hatred and Badmouthing,
Who will see the troublesome sores?
Who will root out tiny slips of Hatred?
Look! If no one comes to cure,
These slips will prick deep,
The sores will weep shedding tears.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem