4 by 4
Open that door,
Make sure you don’t fall on that floor,
Everyday all you see,
Are the faces of misery,
Selling that crack in their ‘hood’,
Weakening the strength of their brotherhood…
Thinking they’re crude,
Acting rude,
Making the wheels of their wagons move…
Walking with guns,
Thinking they’re cool…
Not realising they’re the fool….
Pagers, guns and mobile phones,
Provided for by those white crystal stones…
Killing their brains, rotting their bones,
Not realising they’re in the DEAD ZONE….
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem