Yellow hasn't become red for no reason
the red hasn't cast its colour
upon the wall for no reason.
Morning has come from that side of the Azakoo mountains but
Vazna Mountain is not clear.
The power of the dimly-lit snow works all its chaos
on every window-pane it settles.
Vazna is not clear
from this, I have a heavy heart;
the guest-killing guesthouse's day is dark
every soul jumbled together aimlessly:
some sleepy people
some uncouth people
some simple people.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem