her poverty always comes to them
on a Sunday
while they are contemplating on the
words of God
she is outside the door and
keeps on knocking until she gets tired
and just sits their on the porch
waiting
she says she has many stories to tell
about her miseries
they call on their Afghan hounds that bark so loud
and she is driven away
she tells the neighbors who save her that they are her cousins
of the first degree
they tell God that it is still time to pray
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem