If I must die
Let me go when the grasses are all dried
When the sun revile the evil & shine not
In a tatched dream,
With honey in my mouth
And a tongue dried of sputum
If anyone dares cry
With revenge I will spite him/her
So let me go when the grasses are dried
When the sun seizes to shine
If not let immortality be my crown
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem