This city does not love me!
There are thousands of letters still written here;
But no one in the city wrote me a letter.
In this city you do not have to touch your tongue,
The eye does not smile; There is no love cover.
.
Mayawati!
In this city there are thousands of words of humble words,
But there is no sound inside those songs.
Here I am full of openness like the open sky.
In this city you do not have a nicot hairy forest,
The chin is not red and there is no rhythm of grass on the legs.
.
Mayawati!
This city has an equal love of the sky,
But I do not have a drop of love!
Here I am bloody inside the hen leaves.
In this city there is no dew drops in your crying,
There is no molecule; There is no stain waiting for the bench.
