He loves to eat, and frozen cups in tow the morning greets
that's what the boy in the tattered white shirt said
as he squelched and gulped down the sweet icy treats
ever annoying, the lanky boy endowed with an enormous head
He once had a mohawk, I wonder where did it tear?
somewhere between his different homes, it was lost
or was it shaved off to grow in the newly coiled hair
once grown out of, like his old clothes was it tossed?
No, like everything else in his life
it really wasn't his choice to make
it was deemed as lopped-sided at once
and slashed off by a song-less mother
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your description of the mother as songless sketched her character in one swift word. It's no wonder the lost boy gorges on sweet things in the first stanza: he's trying to fill that huge hole inside of him with food. In the poem you and your reader can get close to the lost boy, and the compassion wells up inside of us. But in real life it's so hard to reach him. Perhaps the positive energy created by your poem can affect him in a mysterious way. Many people believe prayer has that power, so why not a poem as well!