They are gypsies,
colorful, bright and tough
like the blossoms in the desert.
The entire earth is tied to their feet
like an anklet,
and they, like a living folklore,
never stay in one place.
On the sleeves of the winding roads,
under barren skies,
they sound like their empty vessels
on silent nights.
They bring shrubs,
the leaves palms of dates
to make a roof for -
hot summer days.
They cast statues,
and sell them
on the streets of the cities
and villages.
They come and go,
they will go back again,
leaving the smell of the millet
in the ashes of their hearths,
and the melody of their songs
lingering in the winds...
They are gypsies,
bright, crisp and colorful
like the blossoms in the desert.
—Kalpna Singh-Chitnis, Copyright © 2009 – All rights reserved.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like it the ending lines of the poem are lovely.