Slowly and gradually we have grown,
Colour of hair has turned brown.
No friends; no relatives; we are alone,
Standing on a shore like a bone.
Alas! without virtue, life has gone,
No hope before us for getting reborn.
Thousands of good chances we have torn,
Oh God! praying for spiritual reborn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem