XLVI
Every sculpture born in the camp is a beauty embodiment.
Far from the crowd, under the cool shade of wayside grove
The workshop seems to me a piece of paradise fallen down
With it’s inhabitant Gods and their subjects as a holy team.
XLVII
The nomadic sculptor appears to me as yourself in disguise;
I look around keenly for your immortally noble of creations
There lie Lord Krishna, Jesus Christ and Raja Harischandra
Devoid of life for dedication, sacrifice and truthfulness.
XLVIII
I strain to see any in the hierarchy to uphold heritage
Culture, custom, name and fame of my beloved mother land;
The faculty of your dear creations has been seen redefined
To suit loot, cheat, corruption, deception and exploitation.
XLIX
Listen to the prayer songs of the nightingale in captivity
In this fragile cage of aging Panchabhootha composite;
It’s striving prayers to join you is formidably fervid:
How the immortal can dwell in the mortal delicacy?
L
Living on the alms of your love and charity bliss
The bird turns too big to dwell in the cage, when
It flutters and pecks hard collapsing the feeble cage
And flies over it’s debris in persuit of thee, master
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