Walking Without Noticing The Tragic Eye Of The Streets Poem by Darlan M Cunha

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On a street corner, a clinic receives the blood sellers or zoombies.
"Benefactors", according to what's on a plate attached to the door;
two buildings later, houses of electrical material, side by side
(a street musician shaves his fingers in misery, his voice is hoarse
or fanha, and on the same side of the sidewalk, a lottery house
and one of the games where minors are known to play
bet on electronic machines, sometimes they steal wallets
and cell phones in the streets, or home objects
to sell them or - supreme horror - threaten to beat the mother
in his father, in an aunt, saw the enslaving power in which he submerged.

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LINGUEE, Deutschland.