Countless are the mountains in the world,
But beautiful is the heavenly hill of Harmukh;
When I climb it and survey my valley,
I find it enwrapped in smoke-wreaths, piled one on one,
Over the wide range the beautiful birds on the wing;
A beautiful land, heaven for migratory birds
But a virtual hell for the native birds it is,
the Land of brave birds who have taken a vow,
According to legend, not to leave the Satisar.
Mykoul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem