warm grain of sweat rolls
over her innocent face
a bare iron grille window
looking on her old chair
as she listen to teacher
almost whisper from distant
piece of paper on her desk
wet, lines were faded now
pencil too dull to be legible
to read scratches, etch lines
gush of wind relief, blessing
flying papers flutters, echoing
small footsteps chasing, bare feet
dust covered floor catch everything
nails reaching pencil half buried
quick toes step on burying in dust
tears of pain rolls on her cheeks
bit her lips; chair cradle her face
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem