O Winter! Ceased the breath of Delhi in your fog fire,
Paralyzed capital blocked the nation’s speed and turn;
Shocked and puzzled, and think thy fog is a terror burn;
Of disaster! Pray for early summer and winter retire.
The planes and trains are under your dark shire;
Violently shutting all the doors and progress we learn,
No way out to reach home, away from this foggy urn;
Blood drips down the heart and mind, no care for our desire.
In vain all claims to build the nation flees,
From all corners the happy voices cease,
Futile attempts to warm inner strength to sit in peace,
A child begging alone at a big jammed red light, pose;
Besieged in a city of dead souls, none ready to rose;
As there is no life for thousands tattered years, without release.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem