The golden birds flock
To the fields
Fluttering and dropping beads
Weaving them into garlands.
At the day break
They count their valuables
One, two, three…and more and more
Yet they lament at their yields
They’ve gathered little; yearn for more.
Yet fluttering and yet dropping
Yet counting, yet lamenting.
Note: Published in Muse India, May-Jun 2009.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem