the poor
A child was born in a cold and empty house.
There was no bread, there was no medicine, his heart was full of sighs.
Mother is looking for bread with cracked hands.
In shame and poverty, the father sat tired and prayed.
The cradle shook, winter blew in the corner of the house,
Undressed, without medicine, his hope was filled and he left.
He became a teenager, went to class, his notebook was torn and yellow.
The roof was cracked, and the teacher looked cold.
He studied and became unemployed, because the tables were a familiar share.
Their fathers were the owners of all places in the ministry and institution.
Anyone who had a party went up and sat comfortably.
He remained unsupported, the soil of the road became full.
Rant and false rosary became fashionable.
Whoever had wealth became popular and loved.
His marriage fell asleep, love and marriage impossible.
The dowry was a mountain, the rents broke the ceiling of the land.
The worker was paid with his heart's blood, he only ate bread.
Insurance and treatment? It was nothing more than a legend, oh and cold.
The government employee had welfare, subsidies and full insurance.
His life was on earth, we are in chains and blind sorrow.
The market of underselling and cheating, fairness went to the wind,
The scale of every store was skewed, justice was forgotten.
Managers of the city and the country, think of their pockets and their children.
Their children are happy in France, London, Canada and America.
When the day of crisis came, these were the first travelers.
Towards London, Toronto, Sydney, away from people and hearty.
People were left with the dust of poverty, helpless and homeless.
Riders of Zor and Zor, roll and well on their pollen.
Their children found bread and a cracked roof.
The worker stayed in the drug queue empty-handed and broke.
Your astronomical and extraordinary salary, O official,
You eat the worker's blood money, in a warm and distant office.
Ah, your promised justice? It was a joke with us.
Our right is life, not your bitter humor and games.
O nobles and nobles, listen, hear,
Every bite you eat comes from the pocket of the underprivileged.
Children of working people, with a thousand hopes and sighs,
They were looking for bread, a house and a roof for a look.
Ruined schools, bored and tired teachers,
He teaches, but he crushed an innocent child.
The university was filled with money and rent, the share of nobles.
They remained helpless, they missed the stories.
The worker who wakes up early in the morning and sweats,
The night can only bring dry bread and a house that sheds.
The oppressed in the line of medicine, with a heart full of pain and sighs,
Government employee behind the desk, full insurance and welfare, no guilt.
Short sale market, prices are full of deceit,
Every scale was skewed, justice went down.
Managers of the city and the country, think of their own pockets and children.
Their children are abroad, far from this land full of pain and sorrow.
When the day of crisis came, these were the first travelers.
To London, Toronto, Sydney, escape from people and heart.
The worker found only bread and a cracked roof with his bare hands.
Insurance and treatment? It was a myth, a lie that fell out of the mouth.
The son of officials grew up in rent and party.
The worker and the oppressed just sighed and screamed.
Astronomical salaries and superlatives, an office full of paper,
They eat the blood of the worker, they took justice to victory.
Marriage? Housing? Our dreams became a joke
Dowry of the mountains, high rents, tired and burnt hearts.
Workers' children cannot buy houses.
Standing in the queue, their hope fills the air.
The worker's blood is halal, but his salary is bread and rent.
Oppressed and poor, he became helpless and homeless on earth.
The managers of their children enjoyed life abroad.
But the helpless people sighed in hardship and suffering.
In government, subsidy and welfare offices,
People with empty hands, only pain and sighs.
The market is full of underselling and fraud, justice has gone to the wind,
Every store and scale, lie and trick, the right of the people was lost.
O properties and officials, listen to this story.
Every morsel of yours was taken from the bread of the poor.
The worker raises his children with his heart.
But their life is full of hardship and pain.
70% of people are in prison or homeless.
With closed hands, eyes fixed on justice in the dark.
And 30% children, in prosperity and happiness.
Far from people, with politics and gold, in seats full of worship.
This is our story, people of silence and poverty.
And your bitter humor sat on their pollen, without seal.
#behnammohtarami#
short story