Baisakh,
Baisakh, the blazing earth of it,
Burning and parching,
When there heat soars
And it singes it all,
Fire flames seem to be falling,
Scattering over
In Baisakh.
No respite from the hot month
Of the blazing sun,
Parching earth,
Dry and hot winds blowing
And the weather humid,
The scorching and sweltering heat
Baffling all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem