God, wring my heart and drain my emotions,
And let me turn them into poetry!
But let me guide people with solutions;
What’s the use of growing a fruitless tree?
God, milk my veins and let out drops of blood,
Or let it turn into my forehead sweat!
But let me leave my poems ‘fore I’m dead;
Let me thus clear Thee off my parents’ debt.
God, wring my soul: bring out my good deeds all!
Remove all stains of sin and mistakes made;
Let it be pure and ready for Thy call;
But let me do things as Thou bade/ forbade.
God, wring my mind and leave it with thoughts good;
Let them become for good deeds/ acts, a food.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem