The head-bent moments amid clippings of the old newspapers,
And a sound of whispering lizards clinging with beams of the roof,
Crowing cymbals of crows sitting on the edges,
Dreadful shadows of the past events,
Eruptions of inhabited huts in the city,
Bitter clouds of smoke rising from the chimneys,
Are attributed to the sky.
The horrified morning opens its eyes
In the same environment,
Just like an abortive child,
From the womb of an unmarried mother,
On the heap of trash.
Written by Jagdish Prakash
Translated by Muhammad Shanazar
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem