Mother died in the busiest and most popular nursing home of the capital.
She was suffering from anemia and she needed blood urgently.
Blood for blood in established blood banks was a custom, a tradition and it was her compulsion.
I had few connections in the capital.
Except a few fraudulent people, the rest donated blood after much pleading and begging.
Then blood matching mother's was found.
The doctors said that more blood was needed.
My anxiety increased.
Wandering in search of blood,
My strength was drained.
My strength,
which once used to be my mother's.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem