God! Why O God, my dear,
mother is not made of tissues and blood?
As her legs are always straight,
I wonder of ingredients she is made.
It's not a matter, of a single day,
repeating same work everyday, doesn't she hate?
she lack but you gave me the weariness oh deity!
I dislike, although, she's left with work meant for 'the mighty'
I'm true, yes indeed!
Why I never see her 'fast asleep'?
Oh God! why you gave,
my mother the restlessness?
Oh God! you gave her many enormous sorrows,
but why don't even grievously she weeps?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem