To the bottom, to the very bottom I fell,
into a well of sand
where pain has sprung
instead of water
since I left my village.
Each morning my heart feels pain
when I look around.
What am I doing in this land?
- I say to myself -
as I go to sleep
in the bed of another
whose name I don't know.
The literal translation of this poem was made by David Shook
The final translated version of the poem is by The Poetry Translation Workshop
© Poetry Translation Centre 2004-2014