I saw her breaking stones
On the path of Allahabad
Working under the strong sun
The dark-complexioned maiden
But with a good heart
Beating the heat and summer
Making the roads
From which cross the passers-by,
The carts of conveyance
And she making the roadways,
Working for the bituminous ways.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem