I am a man without ambition, no vision, goal,
No life to lead.
My head is learned in nothing, don’t swear,
Don’t tell it’s me something.
No fortune, gold, or money, no luck,
No palm for them to read me.
No girl to hold and cuddle, no love,
No life undoubtedly.
No tale – me told, no laughing, no doubt
I am alone; unaided.
No job to quit. I’m so in need, and it’s so odd
I’m friends with trouble.
Just the omen of this lousy hail, no job at bay
But the dough I knead.
Yet in my sleep I have a dream – to plant a
Jungle ‘cross the desert.
To plant a orchard along the road and
Tender me a garden.
To feed my child a greener leaf
And fight against his devils.
To raid the land and rope it up
And keep it for my children.
My child aint go’nna pay for this, aint
Nobody ‘born with gardens.
The world, we own and own alone,
Buy it from the gluttonous?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
so sweet to read all you write, if i had time i'd comment on all you write