I remember
When my youngest brother
Used to bring Hindi novels
As for to read and get pleasure
Which but I used to see him
Going page by page
And wondering to see his perseverance
As for reading romantic trash
Lent by the stalls
With nominal charges for each passing day
But I am here,
But that reader is not here,
Even the stalls of that type find I not,
Nor the fiction available.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem