While passing through the raw red-soiled link ways,
I used to come across the scavenger women,
The women folk with the tin boxes
Full of human excreta
Placed on the wheelbarrows,
They used to push and drag the handy go-cart
And some with the load overhead
Used to pass through,
The whiff carried by the gust of the wind
Used to be embarrassing
A foul stinking smell and the stench used to take over
With the flies buzzing around sometimes
Under heat and dust,
I used to see and mark them
In human toil, tears, labour and sweating.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem