What is a house?
to some it's a home.
to others a roof over their heads
and others wherever they roam.
A cardboard box,
a heated grate
that's their house,
that's their fate.
Shame, shame
shame on a country
supposedly free.
We see the homeless sleeping
and dying eventually.
What is a house?
Did they ever know?
Or were they always living like this
hoping as they go
to find a box,
a heated grate
to be their home
and accept their fate?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem