Seated on a bullock-cart,
The girl bride going to her home
And the twilight falling on the face
With the tears splashed and smeared with,
She going to her home
Across the solitary and secluded fields and fallows
And the tracts wooded a bit on the midway.
While approaching the hamlets and thorps
And trudging and trekking along,
The impoverished countryside village boys and girls,
Buttonless, in the shorts or without the shirts
Running after and following her
Somewhere on the way
And she smiling somehow to see them
Even in the midst of tears and memories,
Poorly dressed and clad simple fellows,
Toothless and buttonless a bit,
Running and following
And competing with
But the tears have not dried
From her face even now
As she herself too a girl child.
The twilight falling upon on her face,
Yea, the light of the glowing red sun,
I mean the retreating sun
And the bride going to her home
And the bullock-cart tired of covering
A distance
Crossing the river-bed to reach
The unknown destination and newly found home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem