keeping full trust on the fulia-handloom
some words may be uttered now

some words against the gun

an winter …
some fallen leaves …
some cold wind …
and a big vacuum in mind …

with all those adornments
i’m sitting now
on the terrace of a shiva-temple  

in front of me
in a pond covered with hyacinth  
the water-play of the ducks

in its water
the shadow of the sky
the shadow of the trees

along the side of the pond
a little child is running alone
with a toy-ball in hand

i don’t wish to know now
whether there is any compares
to that run

i’m only sitting
and staring at

it may not be known to others
but i myself know well
that by speaking those words
I try to hide my sadness… my loneliness…

Oh… instead of gun-powder …
if i could put inside the quartos
any translation of this joy of the child …  

those who rule rely on guns
those who want to break the rule
also rely on guns

today when my pen wants
to tell something against the gun
i don’t know whether it will go
in favour  or against
the sky… the birds… the trees… mankind …