Vultures hover in the dark sky, hissing in strange tunes,
Waiting for next batch of corpses, dumped in sand dunes,
Of the unfortunate migrant folk, uncounted in database,
Like countless shells and bullets, scattered in firebase!
The Evil Tower grins at laborers, the expatriate,
Quarantined on rooftops, waiting to repatriate,
Deserted by both home and host governments,
Stranded like refugees who writhe in ailments!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem