On marking the sal forests cleared,
Trees being cut mindlessly,
Highways widened,
i sometimes think of,
Will spring not come it again,
Will it not come again?
I see the landscape,
The panorama of Nature,
Stone chunks cut off the hills
And crushed into stone-crushers,
When I see the sacred stones
Vermillioned where lives it
The Lord of the Hills and Woods?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem