Late autumn -
Evening twilight;
The market lane
herds of shoppers,
In front of her small hut,
she lays the
stainless steel vessels
on the mat...
She,
her hut,
her mat,
her vessels,
her hope -
Autumn ceasing
allover...
Late night -
The lane deepening into
deafening silence;
Spoon by spoon,
tiffin box by tiffin box,
plate by plate,
she carefully places them
inside the jute sack
knowing tomorrow will
dawn again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem