Run, run afar in hurry
Go into the huts of my own
And all homes my brothers own
Tell them am so sorry
To bring this news with a heavy face
Let them rise up awake
From their bamboo beds of solace
Let them return for our sake
With pails and buckets, sword and scabbard
To put out the fire in our fathers yard.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem