This city does not love me! There are thousands of letters still written here; But no one in the city wrote me a letter. In this city you do not have to touch your tongue, The eye does not smile; There is no love cover. . Mayawati! In this city there are thousands of words of humble words, But there is no sound inside those songs. Here I am full of openness like the open sky. In this city you do not have a nicot hairy forest, The chin is not red and there is no rhythm of grass on the legs. . Mayawati! This city has an equal love of the sky, But I do not have a drop of love! Here I am bloody inside the hen leaves. In this city there is no dew drops in your crying, There is no molecule; There is no stain waiting for the bench.