she bore the pain
she suffered the torment
she lived the torture
she delivered the innocent
not knowing her future
wishing the new born
to live on its own
independent & intelligent
on its own terms
to make her place
a heaven on the earth
hoping the path ahead
would be a bed of roses
not knowing the plant
had more thorns
than the roses
times passed
people changed
change was essential
but not so commercial
looking back
with a heavy heart
trying to breathe
amidst the suffocation
of the rich corruption
and the commotion
she feels she was better off
being ruled
than being sold
its the story told
by the old to the new
happy indian independence
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem