We are citizens of the street
Brought up in a way so strict
We are so restricted if our rights
Yet hungry and desperate
We hustle while we struggle
We innocently get into trouble
And know one is troubled
We hustle like lories
Our government, not worried
No one to say sorry..
No father, no Mother,
No Brother nor sister
Who then will save us from this fever.
the street
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem