Nothing is easy
Sometimes it is more difficult
To die than live
Your struggles become
Thin air in your palm hands.
Cities grow
And the easiest to get gets scarce;
That pure air that freely
Makes our nostrils a passage way
Then hunger stares at our forlorn faces
We are helpless
We bravely fight it
But without a weapon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem