There is this young boy
who is well-liked by his parents;
like honey on pita bread,
as the mother would say sometimes.
Morning comes with this boy one day
milking Sita in the backyard,
and Ramoo rocking away in his hammock.
This boy calls out to Ramoo,
“Hey Dada, got something to tell you.'
Ramoo goes closer to the boy,
picking a ripe guava from the tree,
like a monkey when hungry.
Listening carefully. Like BBC news.
This boy tells a story to Ramoo,
how he plans to outsmart Didi,
to buy snacks at school for him.
“ No lie. I’m smart, ' he says.
Ramoo walks away, smiling;
then he turns back to look
at this boy, as if youth forgets
age when mouth opens
to let story jump out.
Ramoo asks the boy,
“Tell me something. Do you know
where smart flies end up? “
The boy is puzzled. He looks
at the milk. The pale refuses
his answer. And the milk
refuses to tell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
where else but in the opened mouth!