A boy sitting beside the high way from dawn to dusk
either in the sun or in the rain without umbrella
breaks down bricks with hammer every day;
the dream risen gray into his two eyes
is to get onlya plate of coarse rice,
neither the pilao nor the korma kabab.
Yet he starves and passes his poisonous days
in the sun, in the rain – who tries to know that?
New Year comes and spreads pleasures everywhere;
you, the happy and the rich, fill up your two hands
with those pleasures heavenly;
you satisfy your hunger with what you desire;
But, tell me, why doesn’t that poor boy
have a plate of rice on this very day?
