The bus driver stopped the bus
When it was to take a turn
Near the hilly way,
It was the evening time
And he switched off the light
And the lion, the Asiatic lion
Passed by slowly
When I was a child
Travelling with my parents
On my way from Deoghar to Dumka,
The passengers were asked to hush
And they whispered the name of Bhagabati
Or whatsoever it pleased them.
Still the image of the lion hangs
Over minds cape of mine
Whenever I think of the hills
And their clusters,
A landscape wild, woody, rocky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem