Bright mauve flowers in March,
Like the woman giving birth
Pushes out, does this tree
When the time comes.
This is the Pride of India
On the cobbled Northern pavement
Of the famous Bandra-Kurla complex
Lying north of luxuriant mangroves.
On both the banks of stinking Mithi river,
Which our local government tries to clean up
But Dharavi and other slums drain into, right
In the center of my own city of Mumbai.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem