... in may savage ancient inherited native blood. I don't know who poured a bowlful powder of sulphur. My heart is now a boil of complete distress. I thought, why do not I, like that commander in the battle field As the relieved his horse from death throe By shooting in the head, Do rage, in same way the harassed dome into dust? Isn't it better be thoroughly spent up than silence? Or Death rather than insult? ... "What shall be on that day Dispelling of this fluid of misery, When earth again will find the wharf of light? Light that once used to play into the olive leaves. Softness of sand and grass when Will swim again into the vision of the blessed men Then how our women shall be ... wilt thou say? When again Will wake up the day with sounds of bell from neck-ties of camels Then how shall be like The Honok's disobedient sinfull wanton earth ... with thou say?"