Oh mighty lord
The child of the god
Is lying on the road
With no shelter or clothes
No roof on their head
Their happiness is dead
Soaking in the rain
Drying in the sun
Covered with snow
It'll all go
One day; they know
In the natures hand
Is their life
Be content their mantra
They never complain
Whatever the work they never refrain
Their only dream is
To be loved; To be cared
And
Decrease the sobs of
Children like them
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem