It's child abuse in the Afghani style,
Men get hold of little boys to play,
They fiddle with the kids' flies,
Dig their fingers deep inside,
Get hold of the miniature tools,
Twiddle them till they just urinate.

And then the kids are addicted,
They keep repeating it by themselves,
It is not exclusive to the Afghanis,
Even some Indians often do it,
I know because even I was a victim.

Now I protect every other kid.

Many times before I got committed,
Inside my mind I discussed it,
Should I desist from loving her,
Should I take care of myself first,
Indeed she was very much young,
Never I thought she was immature,
Gripped lightly her arms so tender.

Hues of crimson red now exist,
Effort to string them together,
R**oses of the memories of her.

Don't fear,
Oh motherland,
For your sons're here,
Your brave sons in the band.
Let any of the invaders dare over,
Your sons are here on the border,
We will together protect you!

I had met her only once.

Kissed I had her dry lips twice,
Night I slept and she kissed me,
Oh she woke me up to join in,
What I did was to drink her lips.

When I missed a chance to romance,
Have I such a memory? No,
Always cared for her throughout,
Truly I have loved her since eternity.

Yet she forgot about the care,
Oh, she ignored it conveniently,
Under an effect of worldly desires.

Did someone else prevent her,
I suspect her father made her,
Destiny is a roadblock in here.

The story ends with a breakup,
Hanging in obiter is happiness,
And each expectation shatters,
Tantalising hints of eternal love.

Another time I have failed,
Upon life she was a scourge,
The story is being renewed,
Ukulele orchestra plays within,
Morose tunes it plays lavishly,
Night fell long ago but it never ends.