She who spun rhymes, wove blankets
The Dravidian woman who sowed wheat
In the Aryan man’s fields, reared his kids
If she isn’t worker, then what is work?
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While i was 15 i used to return to home by 12 night till then i was spending with so called revolutionary who knew to fire on other shoulder. my mother waited sitting on rock till late night. most of the time she closed the door and then i knocked the door. she was ready with broom sticks. daily i confessed to come in time but daily repeated the same thing. it contd upto 78. but i had never listen such question. none asked marks to reply this. fantastic one. during 78 i wrote hindi poem posted with title AUCTION. you will get reflection. thnx for sharing.
I want to translate this poem and publish on my WordPress blog, may I do it Poettrans pl tell