The Musahars
And their Musahara Tilha,
I think of
Their poverty and misery,
Living below the poverty line,
Always in search of firewood,
Going for a rat catch
And so on,
Those poor people of
The mud houses,
Tattered and torn,
Straw-thatched and roofless partially.
Even though I a Brahmin
I never appreciated those things of my class
While viewing them
As a small child,
The Musahars
Of the Musahara Tilha
Human beings just like us,
They can be poor,
But not all inhuman,
Full of so much love and kindness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem