Gyrating, side walking the car creeps.
Like a cat it moves,
Creaky, the hinge of an old door.
Its engine is a trumpet,
Waving trees are lost from sight
Pungent, smelling of dead bodies
Congested mucus fills my nose.
My ear’s insensitive to touch,
The dusty wind blows us all-
Imponderable sufferings all alone
Complaining of the walk I’m tired,
Meekly myself, I am a pure boy,
Scorched by heat.
Crying bitterly for my soul,
This journey will never END!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem