We have no guns; only the fun,
We are not scared, but have good sleep,
Our windows are not shut to the breeze,
Our hearts are not coated with greedy lard,
Miles of walk under the sheath of hot Sun,
Laterite kisses the lips of the opulent earth,
acquires the pretty orange color to rest,
on our heads to run away during shower,
We can own gold and display to the light,
embedded diamond or the glass stones laugh,
men are not laden with logs of lust,
women are still quiet; a few are on test run,
The malls and evening Bazaars are the same,
where the human gather to sniff the hormone,
what is the role of the guns in the pockets,
what is the role of tears in the eyes of a president?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem