A foreign land is always alien land,
No matter how much wealth extra, it gives;
Robotic hand is unlike one’s own hand;
One’s love for one’s Motherland always lives!
All foreigners are strangers still to us;
Maybe, they pay a lot compared to here;
One travels not always in an air-bus;
Our minds are filled with thoughts of people dear.
The grass is green wherever it may grow;
When withered, it will turn always yellow;
Remember man, to God a debt you owe;
To your brethren, do always say, ‘hello! ’
Our life on earth is not for just money!
No matter where, bees make purest honey.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem