Mother Courage from Fyzabad, thirty four,
(married at fourteen to a violent drunk
who broke four of her front teeth before
giving her five quick babies and falling dead,
has the girl at school and the boys at menial chores)
carefully collects the scattered empty bottles
for future sale before hunkering down on the floor
to sweep paper ribbons and party hats and tinsel
and a new millenium out of the door....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem