While we claimed ourselves to be a nation
They made sense: barbarian, farmers, subaltern
We claimed our sounds and signs to be a language
They made sense: deviation of Dialects
For ourselves, we demanded a separate terrain
They began to chase away us from the Indus to the Hindukush,
And again from the Hindukush to the Indus.
What is our religion? at the question, they enjoyed jokes,
Everyday, It produced fun and laughter for them.
... ... ... ...
The kings create new palaces, monuments of pride, and roads
Besides, they create new crematoriums and graveyards.
I like those people who resurrect and stand out of
Their own shadows that have almost lost away.
Standing on their part, when I fight against devils,
I feel: the joy of worship, may be, just like this.
People are coming out of graveyards those reduced to dust...
For them, here, I've become the gardener of this
welcome-flower's gardens.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A fascinating prediction of the future that will hopfully be, and a brief impressive description of the oppression your homeland has experienced! You'll make a good gardener. Good luck!