I would like the struggle to end;
Own blood should not get polluted
To be carried in urns to the graves;
Bickering should not disturb tranquility
Of a dead night; Sleep is to be deep, sans
Dreams that knead the thoughts through
The day; no more I like the vines of remorse
To get entangled around my neck and
Squeeze the life out of me; no more please.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem