They are the dignified who being elevated,
Speak among the folk low, low and very low;
Like the laden loaded limbs of a tree of fruit,
To the ground with the wind bend and bow.
...
Never had I seen the blacker clouds,
As I do witness encroaching them now,
Emerging from filthy firmament,
In the grim sky of the West,
...
Poetry is too shrewd,
She in guise herself keeps hiding,
From my too watchful eyes;
When I plough the farm of others,
...
In the prolonged noons of loneliness,
And in the scorching sun,
Are the melting roads,
And two loathsome tired eyes.
...
Incorporate it in the new books too,
That the whole previous journey,
Was travelled on the burning sand,
And in the scorching sweating sun.
...
She was born with me when
I inhaled the first breath;
In infancy she showed herself to me,
In the dim hazy colours of rainbow,
...
I sought for Him on the whole roundity of the world,
On the stretched sand of the deserts, dusting the eyes,
Along the banks of the flowing hissing curvy rivers,
In the populated metropolitan cities, towns and villages,
...
Children are the symbols,
Of hope, of innocence, of vitality,
Add colours to life,
With shades light and dark,
...
O! Little Bees,
You are regarded,
The little flying insects,
Devoid of common sense,
...
Poverty savours bitter,
So it is a thing unwished,
Upon whom it invades,
Makes them utterly worthless.
...