I have nowhere to go,
Mother was a prostitute,
I don't know who my father was.
After birth, the harvest of sin
Nurture to mother,
Growing up, I realized,
This is the observance of Bhaber.
Everyone speaks in words
Bastard or bastard
I told my mother then
Who is my father?
Dew wet eyes are looking for mother
Says suddenly
Those who call you bastard,
The sperm given to them,
Comes to my womb.
Three hundred and ten per day
You were born.
The beauty of the form is gone
The tune changed.