O’ swaying leaves,
thy easing breeze,
will there be any innocence left in the air?
O’ singing swallow,
thy soothing melody,
will there be any peace left, on land?
O’ undulating ganga,
thy liberating waters,
will there be any being left, unexploited underwater?
O’ majestic nature,
thy motherly arms,
will there be a stone left, that was not thrown to hurt others?
thy concerned eyes,
will there be any soul left in them, when all hope and trust is broken?
thy gamble with chance,
will there be a life left, that has not taken your whip on its back?