Begging Hands

In the far country land

I see some begging hands,

Along the street, wandering roads

They beg for their tiny hopes.

Having the right to eat, to stay

They hold their hand every day,

A small heart with uncountable pains

They always compromise with rains.

Day by day going older

They see the children stronger,

Knowing the same future of newcomers

They have nothing to do with tears.

Keeping the traditional manner of faith

They lead their lives to the death.