A girl from south India
Unrolled her grief to me:
Being black is like a curse
No one approaches me
To me, every day is a tempest
The ocean seems black,
And so the sky;
No one seems to be smiling back.

O' dear, Believe in yourself;
I have heard of a boy:
The most beautiful of all
He's black, his name is Krishna;
Color is in the eyes and if it hurts
You haven't found the right eyes
Of the burden on your head
I shall make it lighter
I shall steal light from the stars
To make you a bit brighter,
And of your scars
I shall plea to Krishna that
You'll shine among the stars.