Father has gone to work with his lazy paces
Giving each child a kiss with tears welling
Up in the dry cavities of his dimming eyes;
Mother is sitting at the door looking for a
Known passerby to ask for a rupee to buy
Rice for the children and hungry in-laws;
Children are chasing away the mangy dogs
Towards the dilapidated shop of the butcher;
The smell of smoke has not yet risen from
Hearth and they fall on mother's lap one by one.
Someone tossed a coin; sound is that of a
Conch shell being blown in His temple;
No worry, there is enough wood for the hearth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A vivid description of poverty amid unhealthy environment.It reminds the scenes I saw in slums.Well written,