you are part
of this poverty line that
stand
--
we
within the circle
of office and house
we save all
we can
money
time
effort
and yet we find ourselves
dry as grass
and crippled
like some
branches
cut by the storms
of misfortune
you have become
emaciated
and you wait
for the fast claim
of
death
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem