I know, I know the wretched man,
You need something to eat.
I know, I know the rickshaw-puller
A lot of money you need.
I know, I know his sorrow is true
I know he is helpless.
I know that I should do a lot
To brighten the shrunken face.
But, oh my critics!
Please tell me now,
This case let you take-
Is my joy, not a truth?
Is it only fake?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem