Oh changes...oh changes...oh changes
To preserve there were pots in the ground
Sun-ripened-fresh-fruit was hand-plucked
Food was made for each day, day or night
And making meant work hard, no complain
The ice was brought in, a technic in summer
Boy was boy for outside; a woman was woman.
Oh changes...oh changes...oh changes
No one talked of paper (in toilet)
Plastic surgeries from the nose
To breasts and downwards, labial
Now being a part of the make-up
To become commodity; Barbie-like
Never came to one’s mind
Though Barbie as they did
Can go around no nickers, no bras
Oh changes...oh changes...oh changes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem