We are the children of al-marjiri,
Who walk bare footed on the street,
With no hole to call a home,
And crawl like a tricycle with our bowl,
Supplicating for leftover morseld
We are the children of al-marjiri,
Who starve,
When you eat.
And die of illness,
When you're always fit.
We are the children of al-marjiri,
Who beg for patched rags,
And a firelight to warm
Our bodies when cold,
But you treat us with heart cold.
We are the children of al-marjiri,
In God we hope
For a better tomorrow,
To put a smile
On our teary face.
*Parrotpen*
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