The blind fishes lurking in the caves of do not pounce upon it,
The taste of the salty sea water still clings to their gills,
The history of thousands of years ago!
That on the wings of the flying squirrels of the Valley,
Fishes often pour,
The ink of their painful letter written in the language of signs,
To preserve the mottled appearance of the squirrel's wings,
Sobbingly they tell the talking
The story of the struggle of their descendants, wandering in search of black pupils
Fish are blind, but even the long-tailed cricket has yet to unravel the mystery of a world
Where tailless crickets kiss the morning sun and croak as they pass by
Numerous flocks of frogs
Inside the cave, Hearing the music of chandeliers made of white limestone,
even the blind fish sometimes begin to sing
All the stones in the cave then transform into musical instruments
Even the stone structure, shaped like an elephant's trunk, sways
No matter how captivating the music,
after a while, its echoes turn into a harshness
The fish are blind, not deaf, that they know everything
They hear the footsteps of tourists, they hear their laughter and jokes,
when someone says, Look, look, here lies hidden, the universe's only colorful fish.
the history of these blind fish,
that whenever they are alone,
the fish cry out loud
The drops of tears from their eyes make the cave's lifeless
No one knows the pain of the blind fishes, struggling in the pitch darkness for generations,
that they prayed for their freedom
The blind fishes know that their freedom still has thousands of years to travel
