I was struck with that waft of fragrance,
Strictly of rich young women passing by:
Only no woman was seen, nor house near.
I walked past, wondering about Blessed Damozel.
Angels had come down for a picnic in Bandra,
Or spirits of pretty women now dead?
On way back found no sign of presence:
Their fun ended, are back in heaven,
Leaving me searching and aching.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem