Life is a cart loaded with burdens;
A cart pushed by God and humans together,
With coughs and puffs and great efforts,
Through rugged streets, of births and deaths.
How many gods, have dilapidated and broken down?
How many prophesies, withered and fallen down?
Heaven was always an old promise, for the afflicted.
From time immemorial, of Krishna and *Pandavas,
Of Christ and Mohammad, the Prophet,
Forbidden fruit is being prolifically sown,
And reaped in multifolds, over centuries
By religions and god men, through their hype.
We are still carrying the burden through the paths,
Paved in advance, by the cruel destiny,
How many of the humans have fallen down dead?
How many hopes have wilted and shattered?
Socialism and equality are sweet and ploy
Guarantees for us, even now; a cap worn out of shape
By constant wearing...
* The battle of Maha Bharatha (Wikipedia) a
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem