Homeless
Hira Sadhak

He has owned a house in the city –
but the home never belong him
He has a family quite decent
but he has never belong to it
he remained an Iceland within

Participated in family function ,
ceremony, party and reproductive process
contributed to the growth of country’s population
but still remained a homeless nomadic,
in the house built by him limited work permit

In the evening sun beam closes its tired wings
office blocks shut the doors, he has no where to go
so simply back to the same old address as routine
change the clothes, eat and drink and
before kissing to his lonely bed he
often goes to the terrace open to the sky ,
blinking stars, passing clouds, northern winds
stops for a while and exchange smiles.

Sometimes in the dead end of night
He goes out ignoring drunken watchman
Kiss the asphalts, and cry his heart
to the roadside lonely oak on the deserted street.

He has a mind but incorrigible
never listen to him , ignore the command
and lives life in juvenile freedom,
walk back forest fire in flat moonlight,
sing songs to empty wind and lonely autumn ,
breathe poetry to earth to welcome spring –

That juvenile green mind within
never learnt to obey country’s constitution
It has no religion no contour of geography
It knows only language love and humanity -

He is homeless , a rootless traveler of time
He belongs to none, none belongs to him.