In the picture of life, where do I stand?
Over by the workers,
scrapping daily,
just to make it though each day.
Or with the wealthy men,
ignorant to the pain of back breaking labor.
The negros,
who faced endless discrimination.
Or the whites,
that twist their minds to keep others out.
You won't find me, in the picture I don't stand
Standing alone, in my own picture
is where I stand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem