injustice works that
way
you who work day and
night
burn the candle on both
ends
passionate about what
you are
about what to do with
all the mess
rearranging ugliness into
a pathway of daisies
and connecting clotheslines
to hand souls and dry bodies
with molds against the sun
to cure an illness of the
city
the boy at play and
irresponsible to his sick mother
the shrewd business man
inside his luxury car
passing by the majority in
poverty
well, injustice works like
that
in one corner the dying gets
to be still dying
the fake one gets the limelight
the guilty becomes the most innocent
a beautiful butterfly
removed from its wings
a dog's tail is cut
and the mad woman becomes president
of your crazy republic
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem