Will you flow into our middle-class blood
Like clouds racing across the horizon
Or will you flow into our dismal lives
Now that you are so tired, Urvashi?
Like the fertile women who flow into
Chittaranjan maternity home
With the hungry fatigue of unfulfilled nights
And many sighs
How many green mornings like bitter nights
How much longer
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem