I can't appreciate the beautiful
brunettes who pass along my paths,
I can't praise openly and boldly
You are beautiful and lovely;
I can't sleep under the shades of Margosa tree,
Along the long stretch of four way road, free
With my folded hands as support like a pillow
Like a common man and the country fellow;
I have no manly boldness
To pull the emergency chain with goodness,
While the commuters in the train
Speak of politics loudly in vain;
I had no guts and mood
To spit the salty food
Served to me in the house
Where I went to ask for cash;
A liar on the stage
I can't climb the stage
And knock on the head
With folded fist of my hand;
I am not bold to announce
the death of a few notorious politician
As a national wellness and profit
And good for everyone;
I am confined and had no authority
To send the indecent persons, to the zoo -
Who make different noises and boos
While playing national anthem;
Freedom is my birth right
Is just a formal say,
But I had so many inhibitions
And restrictions! Where is my freedom?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The old beauty on the stage, acts to the instruction of the old script writer at the back. Both are nuisance to Tamils. We have to send them where they belong, to the theater to act and write, but we are spineless to say yes to everything. A wonderful poem on the awareness. Great!