Under the steaming sun
With my slow steps
I am walking with that fast moving crowd
All are busy with their life
And I am busy watching their life
Every one is speaking many things
Some are listening and some are hearing
Near to them wearing unwashed cloths
And without washing themselves
They raise hands to feel the valuable paper
The truth is that money has value when it is indeed
But the foolish crowd doesn't realize this truth
Without listening to the scolding sound
And to the begging hand
I started my walk in that burning sun
With the music of crowd I walked
To the side of a shore
A man sits with a smile
He is wearing a shirt of poverty and pants of starvation
But keeps a smile, only a smile
He’s not speaking, he’s not begging
But all can understand his needs
Even the white men to the black men
Smile is an unspoken language
All over the world smile is an unspoken language. . . . .