There is a whole lot of crowded life under the long fly-over
--from fish market to plastic tents and car parking to excretion—
poor pedestrians can't cross the road either side
they fear auto rickshaws, bikes, food stalls, pushes and pickpockets
on the footpath extended shops short-circuit every movement
opposite Paras Cancer Centre in Raja Bazar
it's a sight of sepsis with multiple dysfunction
--a consilience of rural ambition with urban abundance—
they cry for alternative diagnosis but lack doctor and ventilator
--R K Singh
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem