Translated Poem : Song of the Slaves

~Gopal Prasad Rimal~
Translated by Yuyutsu Sharma

Our ponds of inertia are dear to us.
Our pride in preserving the ponds is dear to us.

Who are you to tarnish
glorious pinpoints of our pride?

In here we love the clouds of our confusion.
In here our indecision is dear to us.

“I might put otherwise.”
Who are you to range our ranks?

In here we wear
faces of our final loss.

“You haven’t won.
Winner is someone else.”

Who are you to question
the windmills of our defeat?

We love dank sloth
of our decadent streets,

we love clubs
of injustice hammering

sparks of humiliation
out from our heads.

We love sweet sleep
of our Destiny’s dragon.

Who’re you to besmirch
our eyes with Waking’s tempestuous sweep?

We don’t love apples of your grand dreams.
The towers of your change aren’t dear to us.

Oh! If only we could steal moons of someone’s faith.
‘Don’t do this, be self-reliant”

Who are you to shake
the balance of our dust dilemmas?

All we need is a hero
to smoothen the creases of our drudgery.

All we need is a character
to scatter sparks of our defeat.

Assassinating our savior, saying,
“We aren’t what he tried to make of us”

we might chance to prove our worth.
But who are you to say-


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