There she sweats on the road, a beauteous, restless lass,
In scorching sun she breaks the stones, her bangles clink and clash.
A painful moan with the music strangely mixed up lies,
At each stroke dropes of tears trickle down her eyes.
Dust-splattered are her cheeks, her locks embroiled in dust,
Her deep depressed eyes a tender grace reflect.
The blood-red sun sucks her blood without a touch of ruth,
Each heavey hammer stroke tells upon her budding youth.
In the sun her fragrant locks are flying about adrift,
Her limber self is getting wrecked amid the stones and bricks.
Ruddy rays of the sun are drinking undefied,
The wine of her jasmine cheeks, nectar of narcissus' eyes.
Clouds of sorrow heavily hang o'er her tender heart,
Are these her cheeks, or roses two which are fading fast?
Through her tatters can be glimpsed her youthful shape, sorrow-gripped,
Like the moon that wanders through bits of clouds adrift.
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