The mahua buds used to drip by
In spring,
The cuckoos cooing and pecking at
And the jackals howling underneath
And the pigs picking
And quarrelling, grunting
And eating
I used to hear them
From the cottage of my dairy farm
Even from the pre-morn span of time,
A life it was.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem