Whose fault is it that he's still walking
without a job? You can point to him
and he can point to you, one can point to another
and so go on with a charade of Departments
of Employment and come will-nilly naught.
(from The Migrant - notes of a newcomer (February 1997- July 1998))
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem