Almost home,
six miles to go...
no transport.
Walking short,
standing in the rain.
Wet and strained.
I recall this same situation.
I'm almost there.
Got four miles left.
I am aware
about the dangers
of weird strangers,
and not even enough money for bus fare,
leaving me in deprivation.
After all this...
I still persist
with powers will,
like a death wish.
I haven't been
or seen the faceless age
of impatience.
It’s hard to get a job when you are Asian.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem