Well, this is the portrait, you see
The age old child home
Where I was brought up,
I ate the dusts and suffered the pains;
Pains of having none in this world.
Here I spent my total childhood!

I think of this place, it is to me
A place devoid of love,
Though a meaning to laugh,
A meaning to live and pass over the days,
Rearing up my own self for what I could,
I would like to become, from the clay and the mud.

Well, forget now the accuses, besides this agony
A pleasure was there too, to a little boy's eyes
Some portraits from the year gone wall calendars,
Of good homes, good gardens and of flowers
Was a world of dream to me! I spent my each and every
Lonely moment- feeling the taste of that excellent living
Ah, the imagination of a child!

I thank god for those pictures letting me have seen
I also thank the patron for choosing those needless
Portraits to cover the bare walls.
That made me choose such dreams
That I could make a sweet home
All alike to those of the portraits
For the ill-fated children like me
Just a safer place to live.

Dear, you must write my story, please,
Let the world know from now-
No child should be called bastard!
No child thrown on dustbin
Nobody needs an abortion!
I want to adopt them all,
I want to feed them all,
As much as I can,
All the babies of this world
Are mine!