The last rays of sun salute the fields;
the vermillion is splashed on the forehead.
Strings of feathers fly away,
towards the hidden, heavy shade.
The pink bangles clink; she lifts the heap,
The outgrowth clinch to the rags-her red frock.
She lifts the load of life,
forehead captured by a brown hair lock.
The pebbles give way to her bare feet,
her belly deep sunken:
appetite grown over eight years.
Those green eyes with wishes buried in-
smile as the thatched hut nears.
The unwashed little hands, grasp the rice bowl.
With the handful grains left,
She fights her fire.
On the muddy floor, with eyes open,
is waiting for the stars;
The 'GIRL' as she is.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful poem....a perfect 10