Bare feet she walks up to the corner,
Holding her stick, her back bent.
In her birthplace she is staying like a foreigner,
Neither she owns any home nor she has a shelter on rent.
Peeps into the only packet she carries,
Hoping to find something to eat.
Contains only the leftovers of berries,
Even they are also spoiled by sun's heat.
Placing the packet to her side,
She sits quietly laying her back against the wall.
No one to help her, no one to guide,
Neither during the day nor during the nightfall.
She waits there for the night to appear,
Enchanting god's name the whole time.
Nothing can break her no remorse, no fear,
She asks only for strength in her hymns.
