I will place the Laurel wreath,
I will put up the green tree,
I will laugh with concerned friends,
And that’s just what you will see.

The tears I shed for us,
At each breaking of dawn,
Won’t be placed in the crib,
You bought from Bandra town.

The wrenching of my heart
Succumbing to sorrow
Will not be baked in cakes
I order tomorrow.

There will be the advent,
There’ll be carols and cheer;
But all will be aware
You chose not to be here.

There will be frost and ice;
At home, all that is nice;
But, in my heart and head,
I’m crucified instead.