I sit on the slope of the bank
and I look at the boat
its half under shivering water
Green weed-filled water fills it
making way through unseen gaps.
I don't know how I shall cross the vast water,
for where I should be sitting,
tadpoles gambol
and crabs crawl
and the rest of it, above water, makes creaking sound
swayed by the lapping waves.
I sit and scoop the water into my hand
allowing it to drip[ down through fingers...
scooping up again...and again....
how many times I can't count.
I know, in thus measuring the water endlessly
evening will come
daylight will quit
and stars will smile across empty spaces
treetops will bend their rustling heads
and breezes pass through my hair.
yet I scoop the water, and let it dribble out
Knowing that precious life is running out
and that I must find another boat
But there is no second boat
God gave me only one life.
- - - Sharad Rajimwale
Jodhpur, India
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Extremely philosophical like a sufi's musings about life and death. Thanks, Sharad. A delightful write indeed. Wishing you all the very best.