I'm the poor lad,
You once mocked,
With no hopes to hold,
I was the bat beaten by rust-reeking rains,
Whom was worthy save for the seventh sacrifice.
I was the flood-painted sojourner,
You shooed from your glass,
windows and frangipani field,
for the ghetto was my reality,
Because I had a vain voice,
Because God gave me a straight
path to tread,
To reach high above the clouds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Gratitude Vincent Somto, I'm humbled.