at the station
sweltering heat
milling crowd
engines roaring
loudspeakers blaring.
a soft sweet sound
bringing to mind
cool mountain breezes
green pine forests
rippling brooks
youthful dreams.
i searched
wading in the crowd
and found him
stark blind
gray haired
creased care worn face
a rupee coin in a bowl
making music
on a flute
tears stung my eyes
does one who gives such delight
get so little?
i gave him a note
and listened on
dreaming of
grassy hillsides
singing winds
dancing streams
and happier times.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem