I see the golden statue of Radha and Krishna
Found from the ruins, debris and rubble
Of the terracotta temples,
The broken pillars and columns
Turned into a mound of earth
And trying to relate it back to,
Ascertaining its date of making,
The goldsmiths who worked on,
Whose hands turned them into a shape.
The artistry and craftsmanship is no doubt admirable,
But the statue lay it in the earth
Of the dilapidated temples,
The small-small terracotta temples
Made from limestone powder and bricks,
But the statue golden,
Cast in gold
And the craftsmanship admirable and appreciable,
A thing of history, art and culture,
Thought and tradition.
A thing of the museums and archival studies,
Archaeology, historiography, metallurgy and sculpture,
A statue golden, but blackly,
Has it grown blackly
After lying in earth
Or the statue was painted
As to avert common manly gaze,
What the reason behind,
Which but I don’t know,
But it’s a thing of history,
None can contradict it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem