A little poor boy of thirteen years old
by Houssam Mokhtari
in the street of a winter weather cold
Asking people hither and thither
For a piece of bread to feed her
His paralyzed sister wrapped in a cloak
Wearing a pair of torn black socks
I looked at her, in flood of tears
Coughing so bad and what she wears!
Nearly naked on her wheel chair
saying to herself that’s unfair
To be born not as such, but this world
So tough and gloomy. Help me my lord!
No mother to hug me, nor father
Brings me food to fill my hunger
O'h! I run out of all my ink
R'ankling pain still persists, I sink!
P'ulling to the end of the rope
H'ideously rappelling from the slope
A'nd horribly casts its dark bat
N'ever have I excepted that
K'illing the little hope inside
I'mps have clearly wrecked me and hide
D'eviously still and horridly bow
S'ilent still and poised is my foe.