Street dogs
Bark bhao bhao,
And we care not
What and how.
The words are with us
And we think ourselves
The great hero.
It is our misfortune.
We touch, we smile
And we love each other
But for a particular purpose.
And for this we are alone.
We are unable to know
where is our wound
Yet we declared
Ourselves the wise.
What is the disease
That we forget,
And we care not to rise
Though it is sunset.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great piece and well-chosen words...