O mother, I made a hawk my beloved
A plume on his head
Bells on his feet
He came pecking for grain

His beauty was as sharp as sunlight
And he was thirsty for fragrances
Third, his colour was that of a rose
He must be the son of a fair mother

A bed of love
I laid for him under moonlight
The sheet of this body was stained
That very instant when he laid his feet over it

The corners of my eyes hurt
A flood of tears engulfed me
All night long I tried to fathom
How he could do this to me

In early morning
With vattna, I scrubbed and bathed his body
But embers burst out
And my hands were burnt

I crushed churi for him
But he never ate
So I fed him the flesh of my heart

He took such a flight
That he never returned
O mother, I made a hawk my beloved….

– Shiv Kumar Batalvi. Maye Ni Main Ik Shikra Yaar Banaya