On the forehead of her brother
The sister will impress
A phonta, a drop
Of paste,
Sandalwood paste,
Apply a tikka,
A red sindoor tikka,
A vermillion spot,
Will bind a red yarn
Around the wrist
After praying to,
To the Lord,
Showing the arti
To God.
And taking the tikka,
The phonta,
How have I remembered her,
Forgotten her
Over the years,
Taking the paste
Think I, think I,
What have I to her,
Giver to her,
How, how have I helped her?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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