sometimes i would watch them at the market seated
Happy talking lauhing, sometimes sad in the smiles
pleading with every passer-by dressed in conceited clothing:
Buy my son , buy my daughter, buy ! look, Tis nice, buy!
sometimes i would watched their lips in the temple
painted in prayers, their eyes clouded with coloured tears,
praying for their family, for their husband and for life
praying their sons, for their daughters
who are cloth in humbleness, bad pride and waywardness
yet they never say they are tired or its enough,
even to their sons and their daughters who had abandoned them
then i remember my mother's charmig smiles in my Diary
o wonderful mother! then i remember mother beatiful faces painted in love:
Happy mother's , O beautiful mother's