The following translation was assisted by ChatGPT.
(Original poem can be found here)

Waiting "प्रतीक्षा" 

Why are you silent, my friend?
Say something, at least!
Even with fire hidden deep
in the heart of coal beneath our feet,
why is your body so cold?

In the vast tracts of Jharkhand,
copper wires crawl—
don’t the waters of this iron-rich land
flow through your veins too?
Yet, even after drinking them,
you are blown away
by a mere gust of wind—
to Assam, Bhotang, the brick kilns,
and the bustling cities?

Under the milky glow of thermal power,
and the magical lamps of Jadugoda,
with only a karanj-oil wick lamp in hand,
in what darkness of the mind
do you wander, my friend?

Without water, forest, or land,
the grammar of life
in the sal-wood forests—
into whose hands, what scholars,
have you mortgaged it, my friend?
Even the parrots
emerging from their tree-hollows
ask for the address
of their own existence—
still waiting
for your reply.

My friend,
I still stand—
like the lone sal tree
rooted in stone,
quietly drawing
my share of water.