Light of the polestar then showed itself,
Across the level of the sight,
Embracing the firmament,
From the spot where had been a grove
Of trees of neem and peepal,
Where in every evening while lying on the cots we fixed the camps of future,
As high as the polestar.
Now we see seldom the polestar,
From the iron-window of the mansion
That stands where had been the neem and peepal trees which embellished themselves in the days of monsoon with swings, songs and (Thatholyoon) ….?
And from that window we see the polestar,
Feeble and frail,
Now engulfed by airborne smoke and dust,
As centuries are imprisoned by history.
How should I see the polestar?
The mall window of the mansion is shut tight,
I only can see,
A chasm in the dim light,
And nothing else!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem