I was driving down a tricky hill,
Sighting all the plains and the mill.
I spotted few cows feeding on hay,
And some of the bull carts on my way.
Out of blue I saw a garden,
And a group of lass carrying flasket.
They plucked the tea and gathered in it,
Their work was swift yet neat.
Though I drove and went ahead,
That scenery tripped down my memory lane.
- Nirmita Roy
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem