In this Sunday I will go
To the country side to be
With our farmers and some
Tilling and sowing work to see
To be with simple folks
And with poor children
I will play with them in
The village field in the rain
In this Sunday I will sit
By the stream at the outskirt
Where farmers come to wash
Their cattle and bullock carts
I will remain there till the
Last bird returns to its nest
The sun after its day long walk
Goes behind the hills to take rest
I love that place of mine
Where my folks live in peace
In the absence of the rat race life
Is lived here under heavenly bliss
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem