We cast the effigy out of our mind,
Burn down the shrines and forbid
Staging drama and holding of rites
To honor Araromire effigies.
We know it brought plenty for seven years,
And we would have saved much had the priest
Foretold that we'd starve after those years
Before his sudden death left us with grief.
We knew they would come one night as we've prayed,
And they came disguised as tourists in the day
To the abandoned shrine and steal the statues
That was later sold to white men by their goons.
A decade later we saw the white buyers
In our village, begging us to have them back
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem