In India I saw a dead cow,
On a heap of waste near the temple,
I saw an old man barely able to walk -
In the crowd assembled there,
Murmuring in his feeble voice,
This is the land of cow worshippers,
Why should she suffer like this?
She wants clean air to breathe,
That is polluted by poisonous fumes,
She wants green grass and rich fodder to eat,
But the damned fools leave her in the streets alone,
To fend for her food out of the dirty waste,
I want the trees and flowers to grow,
The rivers full of pure water flow,
Free from pollution of industrial waste,
And the earth covered with green grass,
Such that the holy cows and the wretched humans,
May live and die with dignity,
Now and always
Mykoul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem