Among these teeming hills
Mine was an endless pace.
Against the surging winds
Shoulders weighed my life.
Pacing along the ridge
I was living on the edge.
Along the course of edging rocks
Mine was a precarious track.
Under my arms pilgrims were safe
Upon my shoulders the cross made not a slip.
Umpteen hamlets and moonless decades-
Countless taverns did I pass.
From morn’ till it was twilight
Mine was a breath-taking feat.
Unto the heights where eagles dared
Seasons carried my feet.
Now, screwing up my white beard
I am listening to voices long overheard.
Sitting under the slanting shades
I am into my streaming decades.
Where are those whispering brooks, temple bells?
Deep buried in the sedentariness of life.
Where are those pilgrims, companions, my travels?
A rumbling sound prevails over the dales.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
thought provoking with so much to learn and imbibe