The Orphan

The little girl wept bitterly
In cemetery
On her father’s tombstone loudly
And the white, delicate, small hands wildly
Attacked her lovely face
And her trembling blue eyes
Wandered the dark cemetery
And the dusty outlook of the grave yard
Trembled behind the glassy screen of
Her innocent blue eyes
Her painful larynx cried fearlessly
“My parents left me alone
In this wild world
I wish
Death had robbed me
From the cruel hands of this world
This tragedy doesn’t make me
Cry and be unhappy
For death saved his poor, pure soul
From the sharp paws of poverty
But grief attacks me
When I remember that
He died of men’s cruelty
He could not find doctor and drug for his remedy
In the town where there are a lot of doctor
Who are honor to their faith and piety
I damned the world
When I begged the pious doctor!
To visit my poor father free
But they threw me away as a beggar
My heart was broken
When pleaded the neighbour
To help us not to starving
But he pretended to be more poor than us!
Damn to this kind of pious men!
Who saw closed their pure eyes!
To my father’s misery.

Inappropriate Reproach

One day the garlic blamed the onion:
“Poor man
“How smelly you are!”

The Onion retorted
“You are selfish
And ignorant of your own fault
For you find fault with others
While you are full of fault
Vainly
You imagine yourself a flower
Which grow in the land of
The tulips and cypresses
Do not be egotistical vainly
You are nothing
More than the other inhabitant
How better it is to
See your inside well
And find your own fault
Not other’s
We are poor and humble
Why dot you not consider yourself
As a modest?