Museum - 1
An old man on a hot summer noon
In front of a big iron gate
Bent with the burden of his years
Shading his eyes with bony palms from the silver sunlight
Now and then limping to open the gate
When cars horn at the gate showing impatience
How long he has to pull and push the gate!
What he thinks about fate?
Hungry stomachs dare him brave the sun and shower
He is there in front of us without any cover
Common piece of wonder in our human museum.
Sitting on dusty path by the road side
Greeting everyone with folded hands
Asking them a coin to quench her hunger
Her mouth went dry
Her tears dried long ago
I fear about her relatives
Appetites made man a heap of rotten bones
No home for these people
No room in our hearts
Even we empty our pockets full of coins
No solution to their groans
They have seasoned their passions
We in our oceans of commitments
Rarely think of them
Barely throw a cause for their distress
Otherwise we will reel under stress
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem