Just skeletal figures, white-saree clad!
Wind-carried, frail beings that hardly walk;
They hurry ’cause ’tis late with weather bad;
Their mouths are stiff: ’tis better they don’t talk!
If not for this job, they will surely starve!
Tho’ ill-paid still, they smile and laugh and cry;
Half-literate, a good niche, they can’t carve;
Into their personal lives, people do pry.
Such is the lot of poor women these days!
From lower middle-class who cannot fend;
The corrupt society won’t mend its ways;
But God will ultimately them defend.
How can the world allow such unfairness,
When God is truth and dispels all darkness?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem