None felt it, though it within,
None, none raised the statue,
Sculpted the bust and the torso of yours.
An unknown citizen, without the bust and the torso,
Thought I of commemorating
The services rendered by you selflessly,
The goodness you had in you,
The genius, the streak of it
Which but lay it unadmired and unassessed
And this much gives me solidarity to state it
That neither discontent nor dissatisfaction
Marauds the inner self of yours
And lived, you, passed your days simply,
Humbly as a humble citizen does it.
Unknown citizen, what is it in being known,
What is it in being unknown,
As the paths of life are almost the same,
Which but know you,
Know I,
What it had been unknown, let it be so,
Need not to be made known.