Near the steps of the post-office counter,
Shaded from,
Saw I the poor gipsy woman
With the poor gipsy girl child,
A weakling
Sucking the breasts of Mother Poverty,
The gipsy child Baby Malnutrition.
When I stepped in, noticed I
The poor woman with the poor child
Sucking the breasts
Of her sick mother,
Marking tearlessly
With the tears dried into the eye-sockets.
The mother in a clumsy and ragged clothing
And the child too
Looking dirt and awkward,
The heart came upon,
I went on seeing helplessly,
Looking aghast and awe-struck.
I wanted to do something, but could not
As was away from my hometown
Into a different place
For the office-related issue,
But could not resist the scene,
Saw I pitifully to hand a note of ten rupees.
Oh, the gipsy mother and the gipsy baby,
Lying on the floor,
Looking miserably,
Her poor fate
In Poor India,
Oh, the poor girl girl-child of India!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem