It was told a few months back
of a fatal spot; bodies of the dead it did not lack
being too young never took it to heart
but death lurked in their future art
it was holiday so home they did go
to the airport they all did flow
Friends and foes bade them goodbye
as they climbed the jet's sprawled stairs by and by
with usual ease from regular practice
all sat in reckless abandon like famous artists
as all and sundry stood and did stare
the homebound ''metalic monster'' into the air
Sooner than later lost in the mist
the sosolists soon realised something was amiss
announces ''we got a little problem, please sit tight''
but the little Loyolites were all filled with fright
twenty six thousand feets off the ground
this is not like the amusing tale of a merry -go- round
Time and tide bore no tale
for the little loyolites whose tale I tell
poor little Loyolites, sixty in number
because the sluggard government did but slumber
fell hither and thither as their end drew near
''the ground is near there is no need to fear''
Descended to the ground in a risky slanting manner
with a mighty thud like that of a thunder
soon ablaze it was shjarply driven
Little Loyolites survived hell to die in heaven
in the very eyes of waiting parents and relation
so gory a slap on the face of our giant nation
Burnt and whitened in saint's crystal glass
they did but fly deeper into the air alass
shame on a country flowing with milk and honey
but lacked water in an International Airport though they had the money
cry my beloved country, ought we not to cry?
till our tears purge us of this sticky fly
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem