We are mute like a granite slab
Docile like a piece of furniture
In a house
We are pliant like a boll of cloud
In a storm
We sing dirges
For the fallen ones
With death cycling us
We kneel to pray
Pray for our endowment
And never rising to hold it
So shall they trample on the pliant
Those mindless thieves
In the animal farm which my has become.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem