Under bulging tents we sit,
Where we hardly cannot fit,
Waiting for our masters,
To make rules,
Or send us,
To obedience schools
But blind folded, opened eyed,
We have no place where to hide,
And they always get our skin,
We, the people never win.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
As a people, I never consider losing. Bless you, Sandra