They stand there in the open
with their arms raised
pointing to stars, mouth gaping to exhort
the world
soundlessly standing there
through decades of transformations
of cataclysmic changes...
Those Iron Men who ruled the times
and dominated the fates of people,
now rusted, blackened, crumbling
everywhere.
Those that evoked lofty admiration
now stir little sympathy....
Pigeons sit to deface, dust flies to settle
schoolboys kick stones for target practicing
and rain eats away their strength.
The hollowed eyes unable to see
perhaps know the futility of their mission.
Those tilting Iron Men
now await one more
slippage of ground under their base
to slide into worm-filled, messy earth.
by Sharad Rajimwale
Jodhpur, India
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem