On the auspicious day
of Rama Navami they gave out
kichari to passersby in a cup of leaves
they proudly called it Dandharma.
Each square of city
boasted the same scene
all the faces over there are
itched in my head quite good
they made faces at me yearlong
And how generosity befall them today?
I do not know.
When I hobbled past them,
one darted forth to give me kichari
I said, I don't want the stuff
I want an answer to a question from you
Why I am a beggar even after sixty five years of freedom?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem