Look at these hands, natural tools
Made by God
To build palaces, kingdoms and cities
But the tools sleep on the footpath.
Look at these backs
A space to carry goods
To build pyramads for dead kings
But they do not have burial place.
Look at these shoulders
To carry grains to sell and store
But they do not have food
They starve with their children.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem