The plastics burnt as if they were the king of fire,
For no one knows what to throw and what to hire.
Sun shined behind the trees,
without the former, the latter would freeze.
A beggar in the street,
fought for his life.
Thrown away by sons,
whose hands were cherished by knife.
The nature is killed,
the people are thrilled.
The road is empty,
Once, there was a small shanty
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A refined poetic imagination, Rishabh. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.