I saw a Black Man walking
in Old Orleans,
In a day when it wasn't fashionable
to be black.
His body was twisted and bent out of shape,
And I noticed as he shuffled along,
that his feet didn't keep beat with the street.
When I stopped and asked him what he minded most,
(an arrogant assumnption that he minded both),
He stood as tall as his frame would allow...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem