I, this sound is of God, of His man and of His holy book
A sound of arts, of beauty and of creativity
A sound of dead nights, a sound of forests, of lions and of rats
A sound of mountains and of fountains, of the sky and of clouds
A sound of saint Dadhici, of Dhritorashtra and of wily Krishna
A sound of body'constancy
A dancin' delight of the self all around
I start singin', I start laughin' and roamin'
And this body starts fleein' from the crowded habitat
I, this sound is of God, of His man and of His holy book
And a sound of daylong jingling rain
And wailing of imperilled grief fastened with chain
I am like what I in me belong
I rise and fall. An agile speed of my fancies stroll
I am embraced by arms rousing the moments of immortal memories
I am a paused love with slipping of the self
I am the Veda and the verses of the rural couplets
And I, the lost the laws and a poet's delight, go and come at large
I, this sound is of God, of His man and of His holy book
Translated by Abul Kayyum
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem