A waif with raw verses,
Emblazoning voiceless verses,
That ignite independence,
That ignite sympathy and tolerance,
Tolerance of being unselfish,
Tolerance of becoming relish,
His verses that seem meaningless,
Will one day be considered harmless,
Will one day be considered memories,
And also flowed into brains like estuaries.
He has no any fear,
Abuses and insults are smear,
Though his heart is torn,
A cloth of peace he worn,
A niggardly cloth he doesn't wear,
Disappointment he doesn't bear,
In a ghetto he was born,
That's why he remained forlorn.
Hand can not cover sunlight,
Sadness can not shun moonlight,
Darkness never smiles,
Truthfulness always smiles,
Integrity belongs to these verses,
Honesty belongs to these verses,
These verses seduce loyalty,
These verses seduce sympathy,
They are verses of a waif,
From a poor little waif.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem