Where are the people?
Of course you haven't forgotten them,
Certainly they exist,
Dear God not on news papers ink,
I too can't find them,
Perhaps buried under heaps?
Of lies, cheap ones not expensive
We aren't a rich country, economy is priority.
Of lost dreams, black and white
Color cartridges cost a bomb to buy.
Of dead souls, not the living
To live is a luxury all cannot afford to buy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem