Father, listen!

 Father, why didn't you keep me in your house anymore?
 My brothers found their place in your very home,
 why must I live in another's house? What was my sin?
 People raise their cattle with such tender care,
 then when grown, drive them away to other homes at will—
 are daughters then just cattle—grazing wherever they're led?
 We are buds in your garden, but must bloom in another's!
 We are birds who sing at dawn in foreign rooms with borrowed voices!
 In your house I played with dolls, in another's I dance like one!
 I remember still—when the palanquin swayed toward that house,
 my little brother collapsed on the road, drowning in tears,
 yet why didn't you call me back? How could you be so cruel?
 If I could lift my eyelids, ah, I would see—my father!
 But lifting the palanquin's curtain, I see another house's father!
 In one moment, one life's curtain falls and another rises!
 Tell me, father, why didn't you keep me in your house anymore?