O my mother, I made a hawk my beloved,
A plume on his feet,
Bells on his feet!
He came pecking for grain!
His beauty was as sharp as sunlight,
And he was thirsty for fragnances!
Third, his color was like a red rose,
He must be son of a very fair mother!
A bed of love,
I laid for him under moonlight!
Sheet of this body was strained,
That very instant when he laid his feet over it!
Corner of my eyes hurt,
A flood of tears engulfed me!
All night long I tried to fathom,
How he could do this to me?
In early morning,
With beauty mix, I scrubbed and bathed his body!
There were flames coming out from the body,
My hand were burnt!
I crush food for him,
But he never ate!
So I fed him with flesh of my heart!
He took such a flight,
That he never returned back!
O my mother, I made a hawk my beloved
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