I was running for race of life
to prove, my life is not futile
to shoulder my responsibilities
for the sake of world
to adjourn myself from the strepent life
suddenly I stumbled with a little flower
And I caught the little flower
with my hand to save her life

But I am badly injured
seeing the little flower
my heart is still bleeding
to gaze the drops of toil
on her forehead
spreading her little hands
only for few coins

Hardly she would have seen
three springs in her life
her first spring might have been spent
in her mother’s lap
during her second spring
she might have seen like her mother
begging on the road
third spring has compelled her
to beg on the road

Her little drops of toil has made her
so stiff that injured me forever
no ointment do I find
to heal up my wounds
what should I say to this world
Is it gift or curse to this world?