My beloved worried these days;
'Your wrinkles in the face very painful
Wait I'll buy you a Sun Block Cream! '
'You worry so much and this is the reality
And why you waste money for the uncertainty? '
Just think of the Moon with the patches on her face
And she kept quiet,
The needy, fatal scars of the burns
On their sad faces who couldn't reach even
For a cheap grease tin?
My role is already finished and not necessary
To be in Hollywood.
If possible buy me a cheap bottle of Wine
At least I could have a sound sleep! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem