Black money, black money,
All are but not chors,
Thieves,
All voted in faith and confidence,
The chor and the sepoy,
But why is this crying over,
Foul, foul,
Secondly, there is too much of bhashanbaaji,
Speech-making which but not good,
All chors and they but sadhus,
The thirdly, the border is tension
And the ministers making unreasonable statements
With the click of unrestrained tongue
Without reining in the rhetoric,
Fourthly, too much nationalism,
Patriotism is not good
Which but they should think.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem