The Snatchers Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

When I was a kid,
And at noon hungry,
My mother gave me
A bit of bread
And I ate moving
In the street only in a shirt,
And sometime went
To the farther end of the street
But the crows
Sitting on the surrounding walls
Or edges of the roofs dived
One of them snatched the piece
And other cawed on the walls,
Or in the trees or on the roofs.
I returned weeping and wailing
Clang to my mother,
Who wiped my tears
With a corner of her clout
And gave me an other,
Reprimanding that I should eat
Sitting beside her
While she churned milk;
And I sat in her shade
In the dusty courtyard
Extending my naked legs on the ground
And ate the piece with relish.
Now I am a grown up man,
My mother has passed away
No one is to wipe my tears,
I earn my bread
The crows still dive to snatch the pieces,
But now they do not caw on the walls,
Or in the trees or on the roofs.
But they sit either on a throne,
In the assembly or senate halls
Or chambers of commerce
Or live in the societies of defence.