This chopper cannot cut well;
Its every blow comes back to itself.
This knife is very blunt;
While going to dress a fish,
Even a living fish
Gets torn into pieces roughly.
This plow cannot till well;
Its blunt coulter cannot break down
The pre-historic pure silt-soil.
This heart cannot love well;
Getting rusty, it has become a leaky cauldron.
Breaking down the old earth with kicks,
O the unsatisfied artisan,
Let us rebuild it.
Let us break down the rusty language of poetry.
Destroying the language of polluted love,
The formalin-mixed knowledge and science,
Let us rebuild the Taj Mahal.
Let all the lands of the sun-rising and the sun-setting
Get crowded with new men and new lives.
