Through chilly long night,
The moon is glinting angrily,
Below down...
...the rivers flowing without roaring,
The vale wailing in muffled voice,
The crests of our mountains...
...going bald,
The thick-trunked Chinar...
...turned into a bare-branched tree,
Speaks in whispers to itself-
don't you see the paled earth disgusted?
Weeping over the throats silted.
Mykoul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem