The grass is shaking
a mouse may be nibbling
at the root
The grains will soon turn
into heaps under the anthills.
Outside millions will bend on their knees
Or sulk in the alleys
or peep into the dark well
or crumble, scream and die.
Or will I see some from the folk
Shooting at the American Civic Association
tearing stomach of innocent people
Why should they die of starvation?
They should die from the bullets instead, instantly?
Note: Publsihed in Muse India, Sep-Oct 2009.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem