keeping full trust on the fulia-handloom
some words may be uttered now
some words against the gun
an winter …
some fallen leaves …
some cold wind …
and a big vacuum in mind …
with all those adornments
i’m sitting now
on the terrace of a shiva-temple
in front of me
in a pond covered with hyacinth
the water-play of the ducks
in its water
the shadow of the sky
the shadow of the trees
along the side of the pond
a little child is running alone
with a toy-ball in hand
i don’t wish to know now
whether there is any compares
to that run
i’m only sitting
and staring at
it may not be known to others
but i myself know well
that by speaking those words
I try to hide my sadness… my loneliness…
Oh… instead of gun-powder …
if i could put inside the quartos
any translation of this joy of the child …
those who rule rely on guns
those who want to break the rule
also rely on guns
today when my pen wants
to tell something against the gun
i don’t know whether it will go
in favour or against
the sky… the birds… the trees… mankind …
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem