Underneath the wheel of Justice,
Lays crushed a puppy,
Good or bad, I can not say;
As who can judge a judge?
No one!
Alas! I do not feel the need to say:
Sorry for the departed soul,
Irrespective of its identity,
Whether the train burning butchers of Godhra?
Or poor Ram Bhaktas of ill fated Sabarmati.
But we are all puppy,
Destined to be crushed by,
The wheels of Time and Fate,
To cross the world,
On a chariot, booked by Destiny.
Bound by his unchangeable deliverance,
Being rotated with its wheels,
Blissful or distressing visage,
Placed under the eternal debt,
Only blessed by Him live to tell the tale.
Written by the Almighty,
Signifies nothing but unknown to all;
But vultures secular for the lust of power,
Brand the poor crushed puppy,
As the follower of faith of peace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem