You are my God
The old woman said
The doctor looked at patient
He felt something absent
Why people should not be given enough care?
When they pay enough in their coffer
Whether it is in private or public
Human life becomes just symbolic
I bow my head
And read
Some lines on her face
She looks like angel in race
There may be no panic
When she touches her hand for magic
The pain disappears and patient feels better
To whom you can now say creator?
She is mother god and massager
The direct descendant from heaven her
To serve downtrodden and poor
We ask for her long live to bless our door
The direct descendant from heaven her To serve downtrodden and poor We ask for her long live to bless our door
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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