Come the rains this year, in every flower bed fireflies shall be planted
The tears of the widows of peasants shall be planted.

How long will the havelis* of the landlords bleed the peasants?
How long will rosy cheeks in their foundations be planted?

Heaven knows those voodoo has struck my green fields?
Charms will be dug in and magic shall be planted.

So long as those who suck the fertile soil dry still live,
My youths shall let the drips of their own blood be planted.

Hands which make flowers bloom from mind to mind and dream to dream
Rainbow colours, the moon, the fragrance of the notes of music shall be planted.

Poet's Note: * haveli: the distinctive, affluent home of the feudal landlord