Pilgrims
We
The kids sat in row like the chairs
Butts on roof; legs hanging next to wall
Our hands were telescopes at our eyes
We shouted:
Doulaghi and it meant rising dust.
In distant we could see wind in sun.
They’re comin-they’re comin
We shouted
Shouted loud; very loud
We tried our loudest
Unaware who they were and what with
We could guess; pilgrims with a truck
Our means of transport was donkey or on foot
And truck was random
People worked in the farms
Movement was limited to village; going around
To get wood
Went further to plains, to mountains or such sites
We knew this one was from the town
They’re comin, they’re comin
Was so loud that village was informed
A man came on the hill near us
He looked at where we’d done
Doulaghi, doulaghi
We shouted, pointing left to right
(And we showed)
Frankly
It was fun
We were right
The truck appeared
It was coming, honing in
The young man and others made a team
Like pilgrims of Mecca and Ganga
(Their scared now the truck)
We
The kids left the roof and the wall of Kahgel
Joined the team in waiting for Zavvars
We were sure there’d be gifts
Clay whistles, Moosh Khorma
For elders rosaries and the Mohr
As always, welcome-team and truck encountered
Rendezvoused next to hill
The hill named Kopichi Kera
(Whose is this?)
Then poems and the songs of welcome
CHAVOSHI
We had fun
And counted the moments
(We’d be called)
This is yours
Then after we would run with whistles
Clays-Whistles too smaller with mouthpiece and a hole for the sound
Looked like vase.
We would blow and make noise
Like Scotts
(Blowing in bag-pipe)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem