this is one journey
we must go it lonely,
flowers and chrysanthemums,
so must we all -
it is where to nobody want you leave
but none too eager to accompany,
although the priests go over with pride,
god’s place’s best to abide.
on the way up I was reminiscent
of the wrinkled old peasant
who toiled day long and nice
so I could buy from him some rice,
once I gave my son one thousand bucks
a piece of land ‘nd a pair of bullocks,
enthused him to grow a pound of the grain,
he laughed till all the guts would drain,
and said what a foolish thing to do
when you could buy a sack or two
from the neighboring grocers’ store
and bargain for a pound or more,
this is one journey
you feel no dicey,
flowers and chrysanthemums
the peasant’s smile means all.
Saranyan BV December 2007
Chennai
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem