Children

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.