I hear the heart of the ghetto beating like the thunder of an army of ancient kettle drums.
In it dwells the passion for prosperity, the power of peace, and the promise of pain.
All of these components intertwine tightly as if to form a fine cloth--in this case a quality individual.
The promise of pain, the pulse of the heart and the element which is not self-explanatory, exists because only in enduring suffering one grows stronger.
As the person grows stronger the heartbeat grows stronger.
Although we do not desire pain, we do desire the product of pain which is strength.
We all know that in time and with a positive outlook that poverty in any fashion gives us one solemn vow and that vow is that we shall learn to be rich in our destitute state of being.
I hear the mighty blast of war drums.
I hear the heart of the ghetto beating.
I hear it because it beats inside of me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem