I cannot stop, but can see
The beauties of flower bunches
Whole passing through
Sometimes playfully
Spending time, taking to
And thereafter going, going by
The kanchanars,
The yellow-crimson ashoka blooms,
The palash clusters,
The gulmohar reddish blossoms
I am the wind, the playful wind,
The spirit of it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem