Nand Chaturvedi.

Your hands arenít tired yet

The pleasure of asserting this

Is the poemís core

A few more days

To bear

For these hands wonít beg.


Be free

It is no wilderness

Donít let it be one.

The river wonít stop here

Nor none else.

The flow of

This wondrous

Journeyís joy

Is the poemís core.


Someone has to quit

Quit this pleasure.

Even in this mist, the leaflet

Possess a droplet

The sun doesnít enjoy such fortune.

The splintered heart

Looks back

Where nothing is;

Except silence

And fear


Fear not

Here there is grass and a small bird

What fear for the common man?

ín for destinyís victims?

This century belongs to the savages

Yet itís ours too

It is a war

Face it



Sins are not sudden

You let it happen

Mere desires canít bring the change


The power games

And inherent sufferings

Arenít for us

Forever confront

What has to change

Shall change


These vegetations wonít alter

Nor this creation be sterile ever

Letís for once grab

For the wind, the cloud

And the fate are

All in our favour.



Translated by Ashutosh Mohan from theoriginal Hindi poems of the renowned poet Nand Chaturvedi.

Ashutosh Mohan