i was born in the world of miser
on the wagon of sorrow
telecommunication of suffering
i make walk under compulsion
they drive me under the wall
my wall have ear
the way of the world
problem untop sorrow
i engage in war of nerve
a war of word all time
they make the war warm for me
on the warpath of anger
no one to watch my back
am now a water under the bridge
i fell by the wayside
with alot of fine feathers of duck
am now under the wheather
are stated weaving
no one weight in Gold
are make a welkin ring in life
no one to here my cry
are give it more welly
are become a wet blanket
are wet behind my ears
am happy with a wheel of fortune
changes occur in a world of living
i whistle in the dark world
are become a white elephant wihter than
white
now am in the whole of nine yards
no peace for the wicked
the world of word war of hero
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem