The astrologer a babaji,
An Indian babaji,
Dressed in red or red,
Dhoti and kurta
And a linen towel
On the shoulder
With the palmyra charts,
Stones and herbs,
Sitting under the banyan tree,
Sturdy growth
Of the mighty tree
And its thick branches,
Just by the footpath,
near the court campus
Where the litigants go
Frustrated and finding entangled,
The astrologer lies
Predicting
The past, present and future,
Seeing the forehead,
Guessing about,
Holding the hands,
Telling about the graha-gochara,
The bad and bad times,
The criss-crosses of fate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem