I am like a bird with a broken wing,
The azure blue sky is a distant thing,
I sing and sing, but I sing in vain,
For it mingles into a cry of pain.
I cannot fly up to the sky above,
It’s a shattered life without love;
For deprived of love what remains
Is parched earth, thirsting for rains!
The dazzling sun is then a hateful orb,
This accelerates the yearning throb;
Of earth’s vibrant heart—but oh no!
There’s no one to hear its tale of woe!
I am like the forlorn drooping flower,
To succumb silently to a torrential shower,
Of grief sorrow, and stark humiliation,
A tragic end! Without any compensation!
Who will write upon my stony grave?
Here was a pathetic little flower brave;
Will anyone know that I faded away
To blossom somewhere another day?!
Who will write upon my grave?