ROAD
I converted unmetalled pathway into
A smooth tarmac roadSo that
All of us can move on itComfortablyDaily somebody Throws on itPointed stonesWith blood smeared hands And wounded feetI engage myself In picking stonesSo that Road remains clean.So many heavy stonessettled there firmly since centuriesI try to pick upPrejudice laughs Silently in lipsSlipperiness of satireAccumulates at so many spots
Like moss
Road built my myselfPokes fun of me And seems stranger to me now.I am cleaning slippery roadBut now all around have grownPlacards‘ Hard work is meaninglessHowsoever you work hard is less’Like fish stuck in sandLike a wingless bird Restlessness Is shatteringStrong body of mindWounded hands Are cleaning Slipperiness from roadSo that For those who come after meThis road remains in perfect conditionThis road remains clean.ORIGINAL POEM IN HINDI: SANTOSH KHANNA DIDITRANSLATION INTO ENGLISH; RAJNI CHHABRA(WITH HER CONSENT)
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