You would wish to ask him why
Our friend’s son has not returned
From his bath in the Ganges.
You cannot ask such questions.
You can, of course, whisper them
Softly into the misty morning air
Standing on your toe on the railing
In the dizzying heights of the Qutub.
If and when you get your answers,
Please whisper them into my ears
Above the bazar din of Chandni Chowk.
(Concerning the death by drowning of a colleague’s young son in Roorkee)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem