How corrupt can one race be,
Shifting underhandedly so no one can ever see
We live our lives with a wry smile,
Nothing is noticed all the while,
Must we suffer this blind fate,
Can we see something before its too late,
A destitute life, we are no longer a hunter
A life where a voter is treated like a punter
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem