He taught me how to toil hard
in the intense hot summer
or chilling shivering winter
churning his efforts into building
schools, colleges or varsities
where he could not enjoy his fruit of labour
and let me enjoy the feast of academic success
his toil and sweat were taxed
for building the new academic buildings
in gratitude, I look at these buildings
not as structures of steel, mortar, bricks or wood
but as Taj Mahals of the labourer's love
when I drop by
let me remember the labour
and cherish the moment
when I shall wipe out tears
still rolling down his wrinkled cheeks
in his smile, let me have the darshan of the earthly god.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem