Chanakya,
O, you Kautilya,
The writer of Arthashastram,
Where you,
Come and take
The destiny of Bihar
Into the hands
Of yours,
Now your diplomacy
Needs it Bihar,
O, t he premier of
Chandragupta Maurya,
Black Brahmin,
But a diplomat
Going with the games
Of the chess!
Where your diplomacy,
Where,
O, where,
Chanakya
The writer of Arthashastram,
In dhoti and kurta
With a clamp of hair
Hanging from the crown
Of the shaven head
And with three ash-lines
On the forehead,
You Chanakya,
Walking with wooden sandals,
Chanakya,
black-complexioned
Dangerous Brahmin!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem