My heart aches as the Sun gallops away slowly to his abode,
Smoke in shape of a human body ascends from a distant road.
A woman hiding her face below her palms, cries near her node.
She labored, she made the building, she worked for the high rise.
The burning salvo who triggered the fire is known as rich and wise.
Her painful wail ruptures my ribs, like a pointed arrow,
The little tissue in my chest bleeds, like a wounded sparrow.
The smoke converts to clouds and gathers in my burning eyes,
The tears flow, as a poem trembles on my lips, with silent cries.
The judge and the jury on earth may not do to him any harm,
The devil who triggered the fire has such a big arm.
The weeping damsel, I know, the story in another form will repeat
They will stay where they are and you will have to retreat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So pathetic a story - - - -the story repeats- - You have painted the picture so poignantly - -Let me quote- - - The smoke converts to clouds and gathers in my burning eyes, The tears flow, as a poem trembles on my lips, with silent cries. The judge and the jury on earth may not do to him any harm, The devil who triggered the fire has such a big arm. The weeping damsel, I know, the story in another form will repeat They will stay where they are and you will have to retreat.