Day in day out,
he lives on the streets,
with no one but himself,
with nothing but his body.
He goes to sleep with an empty tummy,
he doesn't know what he will eat the next day,
every day is a disaster,
every night is a night mare
because he doesn't know where he will sleep,
whether he will have something to cover himself with.
he will always look terrible,
because there is nothing to be happy about,
since all his life is about suffering.but still he lives.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem