The scorching summer sun is at its peak;
The fields are parched and wear just drought-hit looks;
With water-table down, most lips are dry;
The birds have gone away to water seek;
Some bramble bushes dot the beds of brooks;
The air is hot and cloudless stays the sky!
This is the story of mid-summer time;
All pray whole-heartedly and do good deeds;
They drill bore-wells in beds of rivers, lakes!
The eyes and hearts of men yearn for good clime;
How do you cater to one’s water needs?
Has God abandoned man for his mistakes?
In God’s planned time, the rain will come again;
But let no man anytime ev’r complain!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem