In the current world lifestyle
In the midst of cement jungle
Overflowing obnoxious gutters
Like rivers with banks of dusters
Heap of crispy autumn leaves
Where each one self weaves
Attitude inhuman and inhumane
Trudge on the way like a machine
Glance at a man on the back
About to die of an heart attack,
Perhaps seeing ghost of death
Stand by him on the path.
Are each for himself and God for all?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem