*Pen*

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Pen, how many ages are you?

letter by letter

Just started the tireless story.

Pen, you write stories, what is your story

Shining like a sword in sorrow?

Pen, you just repeatedly,

Bowed tired neck

Have you gone and written down dreams and old stories,

The subjugation of literary slavery.

Broken nib, sickly body, ink like water,

Pen, you are innocent, yet abused

How many writers have you eaten and endured,

Pen, you try, can you stand or not.

O pen! You wrote history

You just spread it around by writing.

Yet history will not value, so much angle

Don't give it to you, Zeno history is very miserable;

How many insults, khatuni went to the hands of the writer

In countless nights with sleepless eyes.

Thy secret tears thus bear fruit

A lot of literature is under the chest of a lot of poetry.

However, the writer's gratitude is not felt,

Why will this Lord want to write?

O pen! O pen! how many more days

Friction will be weak in friction?

And how silent, silent, hesitant chest

The stigma of ink will leave a mark on the face?

How much more

Shame on the miserable days of Durbar?

Let this slavery die, let this stigma be erased today,

Work - work.

Did you not see the laborer? O pen, did you see the unemployed?

Did you not see the rebellion? Don't get anything in the blood to learn?

From how many centuries, ages, you are still a slave,

I hear only your sigh in every writing!

No day, no night, tireless, no holiday,

If a little disobedient, immediately frown;

This is how your wretched twelve months pass,

Bought for a few pennies, O pen, thou slave.

So the more you write, the more hard work is gathered:

- The pen! Rebellion today! Strike in groups.

Let the writer be astonished, let the clerks gasp,

Stop the moneylender, stop the sin of the laborer;

May Priya be anxious in faraway lands,

Pen! Revolt today, strike, be at last;

History is written today in blood, not black ink

Stick to the wall, O pen,

Bring it to the side.