A cup of tea from your purse,
A glass of wine offered by others,
Which pricks, which sooths?
A hut that is your own,
A mansion where you’re an offshoot,
Which you pride on, which you deride?
A radio of yours to listen to,
A television next door to watch,
Which comforts, which piques?
The freedom and not comfort matters.
15.06.2001, Chennai
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem