I, a bastard
Born out of the wedlock,
Of a battered economy.
I, a cobweb
Hanging on the door of hope
Now cleansed,
pushed,
Falling dejected on the floor of suffering.
Mother in your arms
I was stabbed
Daggers of favouritism
Thrust in my veins
Blood poured like rain

Flows like river I may say.
Roomless,
The cold-wind of suffering blowing
Eroding my naked skin
They aided with bandage of hardship
Wrapping my deep wounds,
Mother I must confessed!
Those who milked you
Sucked my blood…
Mother,
Mine is a little strength
Of a thin broken heart
This thunder-storm
Has destroyed the Zuma Rock
With which my taint was built
You call me
They turned me
A useless beggar
Begging to save thee.
Now, blind I am
With arms stretched
Luck may find thee
My lost mother