My native land /dibakar purkayastha

Oh my native land, oh my muse!

I behold this pen not to write prose 

Your green bosom, and  flat naval 

Demurely coiffed your lower level

You have streams and underwood

Taught me to express my gratitude.

Oh my native land, I grasp this pen 

with faint tune of music I had then 

Your forests broke into heavy rain 

Splash of a shower I will get again

During spring our sun shines bright 

Fragrance of flower all the night.

Oh my native land, I hold this pen 

With jamboree of joy from heaven

Feel like a piece of your benovolence

all your netizens have come to sense 

Boisterous days your sweet past 

With wanding touch it will robust.

Oh my native land, I'll write with this pen 

About all your innocent women and men

About your old forest; where pine trail

It's delicate smell and sweetness prevail

All your cloud, rain and your bad weather

When your beauty hides  inside boudior.

Oh my Shillong,I will scribble with this pen

That your winter let me froze and I ran 

You are surrounded with dry dead weeds

No moisture you have ;  no plant breeds 

White frost shroud your beauty all over 

No symphony prelude as 'come hither'.