Have you ever reached at that point in time
When in your pocket you don't have any dime?
And where and how to get it seems a mystery
Before your eyes, a haze full of gray
You suddenly remember the wallet in your pocket
Hoping that your last spending in your market
Spared at least a coin or two save being a spendthrift
Poorly tho, dust flees from the dead-beat old wallet
The realities of need and want hit so hard
The voice of death calling you fear you heard
But vehemently you scratch your head thinking
Of how you will save yourself from sinking
You wonder what was the reason for the season
That left you like a lion without any mission
Cos in it you drunk, ate and drunk some more
Forgetting the life outside the pub door
Now you wallow in your bed of lies
Not seeing any life before your eyes
Because all you pray for is fortune
That it may find you still in a good tune
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem