I just read a post, about Lal Singh Dil. He wrote this poem, while a Naxalite.
When the labourer woman Roasts her heart on the tawa The moon laughs from behind the tree The father amuses the younger one Making music with bowl and plate The older one tinkles the bells Tied to his waist And he dances These songs do not die Nor either the dance...
did you read it online ? give me a link if possible
Some revolutionary poems and folk songs lose their charm and rythm when translated to english and must be heard in the local language to fully realise their splendour.
I just read a post, about Lal Singh Dil. He wrote this poem, while a Naxalite.
ReplyDeleteWhen the labourer woman
Roasts her heart on the tawa
The moon laughs from behind the tree
The father amuses the younger one
Making music with bowl and plate
The older one tinkles the bells
Tied to his waist
And he dances
These songs do not die
Nor either the dance...
It is beautiful
ReplyDeletedid you read it online ?
give me a link if possible
Some revolutionary poems and folk songs lose their charm and rythm when translated to english and must be heard in the local language to fully realise their splendour.