Are you tired of flowing?
Oh! Yamuna - you are groaning.
The wind is weeping silent
I hear his sobbing soul vibrate
Flowers are shedding tears of woe
Their friends have turned outfoe
The sky overhead is raining acid
To make the fertile
Ti make the fertile soil barren and arid.
I implored to forgive the human foolishness
Curse of mother is a boon
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