1. O poetry, we have burdened you with afflictions,
Once you were beautifully adorned.

2. You no longer plead for glories,
As the people have pushed you into the mud.

3. It is not my people's fault, they just declined,
No honor for deserters in panic.

4. The poetic spring, tears of longing
Have moistened it from the eye's tear duct.

5. The swords have attained their sheaths,
And the blood of rhymes has flowed from their wounds.

6. Your thirsty stream, weighted down
By a lament for what was lost from the ruins.

7. My chest rattled with worries, not cured
By the weakness poured from paralysis.

8. We have forsaken poetry for a time,
So many poems were composed in futility.

9. With passion we made it victorious,
With love "we made it dance", with folk songs.

10. But bitterness is useless to filter it
In the clothes of poems, like tatters.

11. You were once a heartening, thrilling voice
And today, banished to the shadows.

12. O poetry, we have overburdened you, forgive us,
We have led you captive into corruption.

13. Those who ignited "awakening", spilled
Words into the basin of nonsense.