We might be poor; but our hearts are undoubtedly richer than the rest,
We might be squalidly attired; but the blood flowing through our veins is purer than the most crystalline of stream,
We might be wandering on foot; but our speed is more than the swankiest of cars,
We might brush our teeth with raw bamboo sticks; but our jaws can easily squelch the toughest of steel,
We might smell of perspiration under the sun; but our bodies are endowed with a heavenly odor,
We might sleep under the open sky; but generate more warmth than
the contemporary room heater,
We might not posses grandiloquent pens; but can evolve mystical designs with our bohemian fingers,
We might eat with spoons and forks; but enjoy each edible meal to our hearts content,
We might not bathe under mineral water; but relish our swim in the exotic rivers,
We might not possess sunglasses of exquisite quality tint; but have the tenacity to stare the sun right in its eyes,
We might not have luxurious school bags to stash our books; but cherish the privilege of carrying them in our hands,
We might not speak in bombastic slang; but have the power to perceive beyond the great sea's,
We might not have a flurry of servants to wipe our tears; but have enormous fortitude to hold them back,
We might never have flown in an aircraft; but have soared higher than anybody else in the clouds; in our dreams,
We might not be able to apply jam on our breads; but are happy to eat it with the soil of our motherland coated on its surface,
We might not resemble a Hollywood star; but the radiance we emanate is more stringent than the day,
We might not have millions of dollars incarcerated in the bank; but have indeed the blessing of God; the love of our mother to resurrect our broken lives,
We might not use perfumed shampoo; but still our hair shine marvelously under the moon,
We might not have golden roads to traverse on all day; but still come out resurgent; alive from the blazing fires,
We might be adorned in shabby rags; but our barren skin doesn't mind being penetrated by the most acerbic of thorns,
We might have pangs of hunger reverberating in our stomach; but are capable of facing the entire army single handed,
And people might christen us as slum children glaring us each minute with contemptuous stares; but we consider our huts as the most colossal of palace;
with each granule of mud impregnated in its walls giving us a scent of our perseverance; the essence of our motherland
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