It is the deadliest valley,
And poverty is the burden they carry,
slender is the path, for Just is their rally,
Their wish and ruler's will, does vary.
Poverty is the wound ever bleeding,
And its color is weak and pale,
Cure is expensive, so still bleeding,
And to laugh at, it is put on sale.
Their plight is never ever answered,
yet, wish was it as easy as to powder the tea,
They take a sip of tea and let it go unanswered,
In dark everything disappears but Poverty.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem