The Poet is no Lion, but a Stream
The poet is by no means a lion
But a stream
It is in the nature of a river
Not only to leap from peaks but
Also to flow steadily in plains,
Circumventing the hurdles
Stopping at dams
And if time favors,
Breaking them down and move on
In branches and in canals
Some people can only see
A flow in the river
And a motion in her gait
But they can’t see
The nature of her mind
And the explosion in silence
Those who mistake the sirens for truth
Never can realize
That there is the heat of the sun
In the protoplasm,
That there is the murmuring song of water
In hundreds of thousands of
Megawatts of electricity
That the fish which swims against the current
Moves about only in water.
***
20-12-76
Translated by KVR