Work collectively so that your motherland,
Becomes such a garden that's admirable,
And much, much lesser prejudiced,
And not your villages, towns and cities fall;
Whatever you have been,
I too have been,
Over these years and beyond,
The product of the same soil,
And why not after all?
Doesn't it remind us of
The face of our mothers?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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