Whenever the sharp cold comes piercing my soul
I have only these many leaves to shelter my body
I was born into this dark, cruel world
That has left nothing but my innocence, unscathed.
My flesh is sore from fierce, nasty infections
My solace is tent knitted from torn bags and rags
My food is grains and crumbs, leftovers from the night rats'
With neither shoe nor clothing, save me from this hell
I'm naked and all can see; but where is help?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem