Brutally thrown out into the cruel streets
We are forced to stand on our frail feet
Alongside other children, we cannot run
Will our eyes ever behold the bright sun?
Out there in the streets, like a hen’s mislaid eggs
We scrape a living on life’s forgotten dregs
The world has no ears when we voice our plight
Will morning ever come with its glorious light?
A hundred questions we have put forward
But our questions return to us unanswered
Birds have built nests on our dishevelled hairs
Will heaven ever hear our solemn prayer?
Innocent victims of life’s ruthless rage
Detained in adversity’s barren cage
The furious waves have risen up to our neck
Will we ever escape this savage earthquake?
The dark forests have buried the morning rays
The doors of our hearts are made of weak clay
If we wait, that ladder we might never climb
Perhaps we have to embrace the charms of crime
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem