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My hare-like innocent wife
has no clothes
to cover modesty!
Her wailing is heard everywhere
at home, and outward
sleeping-awaking!
Before my eyes
come again and again
two holy tears like Ganga-jal*
which on that day
you wiped with your filthy hem!
My two little feeble children
like mute toys
have no flesh,
have no blood on faces
have slept, quarrelling,
over a piece of bread,
If you do not believe —
Hear their sobbing, still
incessantly in their sleep!
I take them in arms
and stick to chest
in the violent storms
and cold rainy nights!
They are the pictures of the dreams
of New age!
On the barren land
offshoots germinate slowly-slowly!
I celebrate the festival of freedom
to save them!
I lit, in debt,
the lamps of freedom
on the broken balcony of falling house!
On my dry lips
I sing the song of freedom!
Freedom is dear to me
as I have nurtured its garden
by my own hands!
But, Hold!
O! Tempted vultures!
If you cast your sight,
On its fruits and flowers —
One more fight for freedom
will begin again!
* The holy water of the river Ganges [India] |
