Long way to go. Flaming Zeal;
We, intimate friends walking, gossiping,
laughing, making merry;
Watching bloomed belle-tree trying to woo;
In course of time stock of water used up;
Once stock food all spent too.
Now we each and everybody waiting for opportunity
To kill each other and make meal
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem