Why are you coming here?
Are you a poet? a novelist?
A journalist? or a robber?
Do you not think my dear
Poets are less than robbers.
Poets have excess love with them,
No one on this earth can able to
Understand the poet here or there.
O here they are on that river banks,
On the top of the Himalayas,
But they know not where they are,
In fact, the poets are there
With their own empty pots
And they are there to send messages
To the world, be cautious
You are all in danger, as
The sky is going to fall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem