There is a path
The path that leads to my cottage
Curve like a sickle
Zigzag of a path
Like every other paths
Trodden by men and domesticated
Muddy when it rains
Solid when sun shines
Brown all the day
You need no lamp at night
The smell gives away the path
Your shadow gives away your presence
Whenever the path is trodden
Both day and night
I know the path to my cottage
Just like the path to my throat
I have come to terms with today
That the path is not about to be straight
But when I tread this path
I tread the path straight
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem