At about midnight gloom
I heard a scuffling sound in the next room;
Curiously peeped at and saw
A cat biting and scratching
Tore off the throat of poem with sharp paws;
Stupefied with fright;
Almost fainted.
Since then I live with the corpse of poem
And draw the pen-picture of that terrible sight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem