I look at the beggar in the street of commotion...
so pale and feeble with a thin chest of helplessness....
only he can see the thousands feet stamping on the streets...........
I tell him to look at the faces of the poor Thousands wandering................
He said ' faces are all same when they look at me'
The half eaten rotten bread is lying beside him for years....just like his lost soul.....
I make his head rest on my chest and said ' I will find your soul'
He replied' LOOK AT THE MIRROR CLOSELY'.......
I come closer to the broken mirror and see the eyes......
YES IT IS THE EYES.................I CAN SEE THAT MAD BEGGAR LAUGHING
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem