Lost in a storm,
Left behind for the wolves,
Missing a loyal home,
its warmth and comfort.
for whose fault is it if a child is left by their parents?
Sparrows are leaving,
Friends are scarce,
No one understands,
A monster in that house,
for whose fault is it if a child is neglected?
A room full of children,
A room full of fiends,
made by circumstances,
forced by nature,
for whose fault is it if a child choses death over life?
Leaving the past behind,
only to face the future,
I am no longer that innocent child
who entered this workhouse,
for who will care if I am to survive or not?
Only to be another mouth,
feeding in this house of death,
with no pity or hope,
nothing left to life except hopelessness,
for who am I to refuse death now that life has gone?
Now, I am not a child anymore,
the world is no longer a pretty sphere,
it is a gruesome and unfair place,
determined by wealth and status...
for whose fault is it that the world is as it is?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem