Their days weren't without whips
They traul through trails of travails
Climbing life with broken veins
They sipped their
Emptied their ban
And threw the sack
Then they sat in shrine
Tossing dies with time
Only for them to realize
Their night falled with cane
They now run in moonless chase
Searching for water to moisten their tongue
But they had dugged no well
Nor have they built succulent sap
They sat in fretfull faces
Counting on fireflies for rain
But they were in a cloudless sky
In their wrinkled skin
They staggered to beneath mountain
Where they still caught no dew
And in their tongues bulged
Their carcas were found.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem