accept the fact
that all days are
working days
twenty-four hours
duty for humanity
sleepless in services
anxious on whom to cater
next whom to suffer
be glad for at night
God's gift to you is
a very sound sleep and
when you wake up,
revitalized, rejuvenated
you begin to like
the suffering again
but who suffers when
you have God in mind?
who works when all you
have is play?
for those who did nothing
they suffer more
at night they needed pills
on days they do not know
where to go...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem