The street child
Maryam’s age is seven
Is brought from town, a village
Now she works socially, with crowd
She sells goods; eight to ten, on roadside.
(Unlike most, none to five)
And her food?
And place?
And sleep?
Ask the man with moustache,
He is boss.
To her dad he pays some.
Poverty.
Poverty.
Poverty.
Poverty.
Enslaved and deprived
Like many; as with me.
Where is God?
Where are faiths?
Governors, the judges?
Better dumb; be tongue-less…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Enslaved and deprived! With the wicked hands of mankind on earth. Nice work.