My God, what sin have I that have You
A Bengali wife to me,
So critical, urban, selfish and narrow,
Hollow and shallow from her within,
A sweetly-speaking,
But taunting and twisting,
She will take fish, meat or eggs daily,
But will keep a very poor health.
Milk she cannot digest
As her liver is,
Fruits the cause of acidity,
Only fish her liking
Together with eggs and meat,
Yes, the red boiled rice,
Is what she likes,
A non-vegetarian diet
The liking of hers.
After coming to the house,
Wants she to expel and oust
The older members of the house,
Sending them to oldman homes
As for rehabilitation,
Developing the cracks,
Fissions and fissures,
A girl of negative temperament,
Critical and crooked
Though speaks she sweetly.
My God, take You my reading and assemssment of her,
I hate her the most in the world,
My Bengali wife,
Though speaks she sweetly,
Chocolate-teethed,
But in reaity a sugar-coated pill,
So against my Hindi,
So against me
And other province people,
Their manner, etiquette and temperament,
But a number one backbiter,
Burning in jealousy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem