This is a dramatically poem on the Gujrat riot...
Once while sleeping I saw a dream,
In a beautiful ground was playing,
That was lying near a lovely stream,
A pretty smile was the sun displaying,
Grass was tickling when we'd run,
And dew disappeared as shone the sun.
In the game, so fast I ran,
And found myself far away,
Saw back but no friend I sought,
But my eyes met an old mourning man,
May be, he forgot his own way,
I reached him curiously in this thought.
When he turned his lovely face,
I recognized, Ah! Our National Father,
Whose tender heart was full of grace,
'Why thy eyes wet? O my father!
Practising on thy doctrines, now India is free,
But, ye weeping, O ye must be glee.'
Wiping his tears he broke his ice,
'Why to be happy and on what to be gay? '
He spoke in his woeful voice,
They again and again me slay,
My home affected by violent flood,
And my yard is full of human blood.'
'I'm unable to imagine, O what we say?
How thou be slain again and again,
While from thy home thou far away,
And on thy attire, how is this stain?
I've seen thee cheerful in my books,
But, why sorrowful thy face looks?
'Open thy mind and understand me, O child!
Where peace resides the place I attain,
And thou know well that I've been mild,
Thy white clothing leaders made on me stain,
Ah! Gujrat, My Gujrat is full of human blood,
Wild Modi has brought a violent flood.'
In his tearful eyes I saw horrible sights,
Men be killed, burnt, cleft and badly drawn,
Surrounding one be ripped if one who fights,
Tearing womb, infants are wildly drawn,
Infants're cleft before their mothers' eyes,
With a painful cry I closed my eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem