Within these walls, stifled by damp and stench
muddy floor, flies watching over our bench,
A hopeless darkness settles over our path.
With class, status, behind our scruff like dog chain
I wonder if anyone will survive this plaque.
The poverty in our life is like a desert grain
making me to think of HIM as being bias
whiles we sleep and wake up with the same alias
The children's cry echo at home,
and their mothers showing nakedness under every dome
to feed and cloth their up spring.
to survive this languish life
that has bring war upon our houses
turning our able men into useless creatures.
We have to sit under our masters dinning
waiting for their meal to dropp by.
It is better to have something than nothing
your pride and honor poverty wont take away.
i cry every night asking myself why me!
a victim of prejudices in this society.
but i have a remedy to cure me of this agony
The poison that will take me up slowly
oh my mother, father don't cry slightly
am gone but someone will tell my story.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem