Having the luck of being born into the claws of poverty
Our strength and power cannot carry us to freedom, why?
For like stagnant waters we lay still unwillingly
Knowing that our fate lies in the hands of God.
Every day we sleep with hunger and wake with anger,
And some of us simply pray for death to hasten his call.
Even though the reception there is incomprehensible,
Still, death appears the only way, the remedy.
Although by providence or coincidence unknown,
Some of us have left us behind untold.
Call them money miss road or money found road,
They remain the emigrants of poverty
The immigrants to the cream of society.
And we stay to welcome and accommodate,
Not only those who are born into our world,
But those who had but little stay in the rich world,
As they come rushing like waterfalls,
For now they have a new name, ‘the less privileged.’
The ambitious among us have wishes and dreams,
And strive as we can, the situation remains the same.
But the struggle to achieve is not to end,
For our everyday song is ‘we shall overcome.’
Yet we cannot blame God for our fate, why?
Some who are rich wish they are like us with peace,
And we cannot be here and there at the same time.
Our main focus now is in heaven, the kingdom of God.
For there we shall have rest, wealth, and joy,
All of which here we have not but need much.
Till then, when equilibrium shall prevail,
God, give us this day our daily bread.