I

My house is on the hill.
The walls have been built
With broken rocks on  the hill ,
Ted mud of the hill plastered on them,
The colour of kamera and the roof of stone.
My house is small but much akin to the hill.

Suffering resembling the hill too dwells here.
This little house has offered a shelter for it like me.
It sleeps with me the night through and wakes when I wake.
Gets up and walks with me in the morning.
Much like my own shadow,
My suffering.

               II

The hills tore open
Its heart to me.

There were dreadful landslips,
Tears and an anguish of endless suffering,
And hunger,
Its echo that returned from another hill.

Having lived in the hill for years too
The hill I perceived was only its outward appearance
Where  flowers bloomed,
Green trees stood
And  a clear blue sky opened over them.

The hill was counseling us, ‘Boys,
It’s not easy to live,
One has to bear
Unendurable pain
And has to flash a smile with it.

Only today
I took in the hill.