I see her struggling all daylong, 
A poor Dalit woman, 
Working in her home, 
Working in the master's house, 
Living under a thatched roof, 
Sleeping on the floor
Without food
Just living on stale food and left-overs, 
A Dalit woman
She has the goats and sheep to attend to
And the pigs tied near her house, 
The husband a drunkard
And the children too poorly
Drinking tears from the eyes falling.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem