Sorrow is a sitar that cuts the maestro's finger
just to test the sharpness of its strings;
Happiness is a lndlord, who has no room to let,
yet does not take down the TO LET sign;
Adversity is that big arch thru which you can see
the real face of your friend.
And love is like a pillow that has to be sun-dried
now and then, or else it stinks;
While separation is a left-behind suitcase - its key
has gone with the owner, and there's no spare.
Your wife is your old bank account: it's troublesome
these days to withdraw money, because signatures don't match.
And your children?
Your children are the mileposts to your grave-
Footprints of the traveller snatched away by a tiger.
(from On Behula's Raft)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem