“Hello my dear, what is that,
Radio station, I love it! ”
‘It is happy listening.’
O not only me, but my father;
And his father, all loved it.
Used to awake in the dark of dawn,
Like a spirit of information.
Father, mother, brother, sister,
Neighbors, villagers, all used to rush,
To listen the world event.
Not even knowing what the voice was,
But, “You inform my Life, unknown voice.”
Same rituals go- would go on day by day.
Heart and mind were used to it,
And still startled to listen,
Perfect metaphor for news and knowledge,
Vibrator of consciousness.
- “Honey what is new…? ”
- “If you give us few minutes,
We will give you the world.”
Listen to Aakaskwani,
Over and over again,
We will know the world,
- One would ever know,
To know many times over,
And open this sky-blue world,
To eyes-heart and mind.
It is Aakashwani—one and all;
Voice of the nation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem