In the sun, in the rain
Without umbrella
A boy beside the road
Works ceaselessly from dawn to dusk
Breaking bricks into pieces.
He entertains into his two eyes a dream
Of merely three loaves of bread--
No rich dishes like korma and kabab,
No princely recipe on the table.
Nevertheless, he remains unfed
In the sun, in the rain beside the road
And pass his poisonous days.
O the rich, do you think of him once?
New Year sprinkles links of love
Into the hearts of all.
Collecting those links, you, the rich,
Fill up your hands and eat up to your marks
All the things you like best.
Tell me, why does that boy remain this very day
Helplessly unable to feed himself
With a single handful of plain rice?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This World is for them the rich... they made it sweet and loves... tear of road to hard work..... Anna you must help them....., we fel you are God of god and must save us Both in the sun and rain remains umbrellaless a boy beside the road, works ceaselessly from dawn to dask by breaking into pieces the bricks. In both eyes he entertains a dream desolate of merely three handfuls of meals; the dream certainly not for rich dishes—korma, kabab nor for princely recipe on the table. Still everyday remains he unfed in sun and rain beside the road, he spends his poisonous days- O the happy men, do you think of him once?
Great comment in the shape of a poem.