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Why are we so violent?
We are slaying the mother
who has born us with a great care.
Her tears have become downfall,
We have really harassed the mother
Whose shelter keeps us from being orphan.
The red ink is spilled over,
As if, it wants to speak of us
but we turn a deaf ear to her advice.
Her heart is melting with pain,
Her tolerance power is to break now
We will again fall into deep sleep.
What more can the mother do for us?
When we haven't taken care of it,
Now, the situation looks unavoidable.
How farther can we flee now?
How longer can we subsist now?
When the mother's wrath engulfs us.
30/05/2008
Pushkar Bisht
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Pushkar Bisht
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