Mizoram
The land of the Mizos,
Mizo hills and villages,
Blue-blue hills
Sunny and green and beautiful
With the ways cut in between the hills
With a culture, tradition and living of their own,
The myth and mysticism of their own.
Someone from the traditional house
Calling, calling us
A small girl child toddling looking
And calling
With a palm leaf broomstick
Sweeping the floor of her house
And greeting,
Calling from her home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem