Alighting from the train on the platform,
Going by the steps to reach the town,
Sude by side here are small stalls.
Rickshaws are ready to go.
Reaching the road on foot,
Eyes see buses, motors and rickshaws.
But everything is heartless.
Men seem to be dolls,
And the bueses, motors, rickshaws seem to be toys.
It seems as no heart in them, no living in them.
No sense in the dolls, they know just their way.
As the buses go as same the dolls go- - complete heartless.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem