My poverty
And it is my poverty
That is making me
Weaker and weaker
O my dear, it is
My hunger that is
Making me weaker
And weaker and weaker.
I am struggling for food
All days and all nights
I have no potency to fight
Being poverty-stricken
I am unable to perform
Any activities.
O my dear, believe me,
I am always
Staying here with fear.
See me
My poverty is
Mocking at me
With so many diseases.
But I am able to
Touch the Truth and
Truth is here
Before me at this time.
As I am poor
I am hearing You and
I am fortunate to receive Your blessing
I have no other engagement other than
Calling You day and nights.
Due to my poverty I have got the real
Saintly persons as my guide and associate
And here I enjoy the purified form of life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
enjoying life in its purified forms.