She may be dark, but is my lovely daughter,
Dark but affectionate,
Careful and loving,
How neglected is she,
Think I,
How ignored in the homes
Of poverty, illiteracy and backwardness,
In a torn frock
Goes she to the hamlet school
Running under the banyan trees
and she reading on a jute knapsack,
My lovely daughter,
My affectionate daughter,
My poor but loving daughter,
Living miserably,
But smiling in pains too
The poor daughter of Poor India.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem