In twilight where snow is twirling around
Iona Potapov still waits with his little horse
Adorn with snowflakes and seated on his sleigh
His little horse too quite white and frozen
No doubt both are in deep thought
In this slough; full of monstrous lights,
Unceasing noise and hurrying people
Listen to the insults hurled at him
From the passengers who travels in his cab
Waited for silence to mention of his son’s death
Which mistook the door and went for the son
Instead of coming to the father
Everybody ignores his immense
Illimitable, unbearable painful story
They abandoned himself to his grief
He finally sees it’s pointless
Searching for a person who will listen to him
He unburdens what has been weighing on his mind
To his faithful little horse
Who cannot comprehend his sorrow
But listens carefully
Iranga Hettiarachchi
