We live in shabby bungalows
Making a living by pushing wheelbarrows
Or in the house of the elite mopping floors
For that is what our all bestows
And sweeping the streets for them to walk on while they sit in their offices making calls
Even in the offices we clean up after them
As they continue building their name
Because for them it is but a game
They bear different tittles in the end it's all the same
President, Minister, officer, just think of a name
Their wives hair is of pre contemplated artistic curl
While ours bears a priceless natural curl
Their children attend expensive schools
While ours, even a teacher wears torn shoes
Their lives are complete with popularity
While our world is made of community
Their appearance is Porsche cars, fancy clothes and designer's handbags
While ours is comprised of mere rags
What costs us to feed the whole family from the first day to the last
Converted to theirs is breakfast
When they enter supermarkets
We are put on hold with our empty baskets
When they become ill they are flown abroad
While we are left to die in the cold
If they miss the deadline they were simply destructed by other developmental issues
If it falls up on us we are simply not serious
What powerful people can do for money
Cannot be compared to the commoner's harmony
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem