ALGHALABA الغلابة Poem by MOHAMMAD SKATI

We're the poor people, O dad! How did we become poor people? We don't know, O dad! We're poor people, By God, Our cares accompany us Everywhere, but We haven't forgotten our friends, We got exhausted and we got tired, We got up and we got slept, but We're still poor people, Even if days change, but We keep as we're, We're amid a toiling life, We're always far from pretty things, We fly like a passing cloud, Our hearts got broke from Our friends' oppression, Our breakfast, Our lunch, and Our dinner are consisting of Kushari, beans (Foul) , Flafel, watercress, and................. We're all poor people (GHALABA) In the time being, In its taste, In its song, In its love, Everyone tells that we're Ghalaba (poor people) , We die and we live in poverty, We live and we die in poverty, No other words! No other words too! Even in USA, There are a lot of poor people (Ghalaba) , In the poor's book, Only we see the poor people, We never sleep By day and by night, We're tired, We never feel pretty, but A little bit happy, The poor people's happiness, but We remain Ghalaba (poor people) , O dad!