Oh, Poor Hachukrai

Hachukrai, do you hear
The blind man mouths a harangue?
At every pause he knocks
His head against the ground
Kisses the dust and sings –
O my brothers and sisters
Come to me, come by my side
Let’s touch our beloved soil.

Hachukrai, how would you touch the soil
And swear by it?
You don’t have an inch of land left,
All is lost bit by bit
In a distress sale to pay
For the cure of this man’s myopic vision.
You are anaemic now
You don’t have strength
Left in your hands,
Your smile has lost its lustre,
Oh, Hachukrai, your eyes are now dazed with sleep.

The flag waves atop the tree
Do you see?
The flag that has been coloured
By the blind!

OH, POOR HACHUKRAI