In a filthy world
We toil….
Toil…
Toil…
Stagger in a spot unyielding!
Our salty sweats
Bloom up account for our masters.
Ingrate hands
With sharp shaft ravaging
Our weary souls
We toil…
Toil…
Toil…
We balance our emotions
To eclipse the horror
Of frozen accounts
The tick tocking clock
Remind us of our toiling,
Aged parents
With terrifying wrinkles
We must toil…
Toil…
Toil…
Muscles aching
Souls weary
Joint
Disjointed
We must still toil
Till hopes are transformed
Into reality.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem