Books thrown away.
School bags banished.
Pencils prohibited. Teachers forgotten.
Torn notes and books dealt
by a junk merchant,
earning a few coins for a sack of school cargo.
To forget lunch and play,
loiter, hug pals in cricketing pitches.
Balls, bats, sticks, stumps, quarrels with umpires,
cool juices drunk
under white-hot tropical chithirai sun.
Torn, tired, sweated, soiled, return to dens,
to be scolded by papa and grandmas.
April, May months - annoyance for aged.
Pure paradise for kids.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem