Born I was in your rustic pangs
Yearn to scribe in vernal verse,
Round the clock I hear the bangs
At last, you witness all the worse.
Grant us all hearts fair; the air
I, eager to breathe in its freshness,
Passions, pride yours I find unfair
Everyone wears smiles of wickedness
Trapped I am in the net of immortality
Await your hidden vistas of morality
.

By the time I hesitantly wake up
You appear with an empty cup,
Restlessly live my friends, parents
As hardly pay the debt and rents,
Grown up I was in your hands
I am scarcely proud of these lands;
Plantations of teak and mango
Endlessly yield despair and grow,
This land may prosper, illume bright
And promote among us unity, might.