A little slumber, a little folding of hands
And poverty hits like an armed robber
Pummeling squarely on its victim
The hands and legs feel weak
The limbs want to go numb
At the thought of work, the mind resigns
The spirit is willing but the body weakens
A little sitting back and relaxing
Thinly thinking that things will go right
Hoping against hope that it'll be okay
Waking up from the reverie in hunger
Laziness indeed an enemy it is
To the society, the nation, the world
Dragging development and devolution
To the people, for the people, by the people
The savaged folks from the sabotage
And give them freedom to reign over it
To be at the helm of its seduction
To thrush its efforts to futility
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem