Dressed in my filthy rags, I walk down the street,
And I cannot escape from that gruesome heat,
Nor do I escape from the smiles and laughters of the people,
Who treat me as nothing but a rotten apple.

Though me not a statue without any feelings,
Though me treated as a human being but just like ceilings,
Though me proud to be a part of ‘HIS’ creation,
Though me except ‘HIM’ not shown any compassion.

I can only confide in ‘HIM’, he the Almighty,
The titan of sorrow and pity,
To take away that wretched soul of me,
And to make me a servant of thee.