We begin a war of new ideas,
In which the world is restricted,
And the people are absorbed in their own world,
We poets are restless to better the home,
Where all dwell in gloom.
Why the world so small
the people think?
Why not ordinary things
they look for?
Why the great souls
need to come into the world?
We people play no good role
The maker has handed to us.
If the world still remains same,
One person again from the God’s home
Has to take birth to eradicate
All the superstitions and evil,
And then the sweet song of prosperity will flow.