Once
At the bank of river Tamasa
Someone killed a karchana separating it from its mate
Those who used to make a living
To them was uttered
A hot blast of condemnation
And this blast gave birth to
The first culture of humankind
From the furrows of the plough was germinated
A far-reaching revolution...

Seeta
The child of my fields
Seeta
The mother of my green crops
Seeta
The future of my golden harvest...
And was written
The Ramayana: The odyssey of the Lord Rama

Today
At the bank of a lake
By the wind carrying Death within it
Were killed
So many fathers, so many sons
So many beloveds, so many mothers

Today
Won’t there be any more transformed robber
Whose
Poetic voice would announce
An inevitable anathema
To that way of life
Which, bewitching with the will-o-wisp of development
Dries up the foundations of future existence
Won’t there be written
With union of crops and steel
A new epic
Whose name would be
Manavayana: The odyssey of the humankind?