The sun did surely cross the mantel
And every thing having been held
None of us could break the wall
And this bliss being such bitter made
Our eyes were irrigated with fretful rains
And we look up in the sky and nothing remains
And this is the life we lead
The most bitter side of the world,
While in the bottom of our hearts we clamour
They look down on us as if in a drama
For all this time, we are torn by the trauma
While they rest in palace-like-bangalows of summer
And while we are draged further down.
And our rights trodden upon in bright-day-sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem