I'm only twelve:
Sir, ma'am can you spare me some rice
My mom is lying on the street over there
My baby brother still tries to suckle,
While mom is waiting for Death to spare her hunger
Dad was clubbed to death... for stealing rice
The field is bare:
It's so quiet, not even a song bird or insect in sight.
My stomach is too weak for any solid food,
The walk from my home village was long and arduous.
Corpses lined the sidewalk but nobody to bury
Black crows circle high above... waiting
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Van, I think this is very poignant material with which to fashion a poem. But what you have here is more like a diary entry than a poem.