Hurling flags of independence,
Does not end the struggle of the dependant,
The poverty stricken,
Suffer in absolute pain,
In the hutments resides their freedom,
Weather casting spells of real doom,
Half the days the burners Do not show flames,
There is no standard income whom to blame,
Opportuniy eluded life long,
The road of poverty is too long,
Never ending even before the years end,
Life struggles to beat with so many turtuous bend, .
As if life only read one word,
One ironic word that is neither butter not bread,
For a piece of bread love like dogs,
If the dustbin wastage does not leave the Dog,
Struggle till the end of breath,
End the story editing death,
Poverty is the last word,
Endless struggles fought for a piece of bread,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem