If all the things our country does
should please your pallet and wallet;
how will those who stack notes in bundles
like hay till the top of their barn,
with pretext of seeking better days
grab those riches to enrich their dirty souls
without concern or regard for the inequity they create?
Like storage of salted green mangoes
how they hoard their money that others don't doubt
neither they get a taste of it
while he who accumulates those bundles of money
scrupulously, hideously grins with satisfaction
not realizing that nation's wealth
is not some grandma's pickles he can relish on.
Let them search for it, let them expose it
for those are anklets of our feet
which they are dancing on with selfish joy;
and once the corruption, the loot is found
you will know what an onerous task is done;
these small perils of life faced today
are sacrifices every person has to go thro'
to climb that mountain called truth
which common man must ungrudgingly dare
no matter how rough or difficult the climb.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem