Doesn’t it hurt to know
that you’re rich and I’m poor?
That you get the best delicacies each day,
while I receive uphuthu or umgqushu three days a week?
Doesn’t it hurt to know that you’re carefree,
whilst I have to worry about paying school fees or eating tonight?
Doesn’t it hurt to know that I have to fend for myself as an orphan,
whilst you parents are making everything possible for you
but you let it go to waste?
Doesn’t it hurt to know
that you’re rich and can afford any luxury at any price
with no one to depend on you,
whilst I have to farm/beg under the hot, merciless sun
(pinching the moisture out of my skin)
and have orphaned children knock on my door,
with heart-breaking hollow eyes and stick-like bodies,
just for a morsel of bread and a small bowl of soup?
Doesn’t it hurt to know you are among the privileged,
whilst someone is dragging a worn-out trolley
with recycling products all because of lack of employment?

Oh tell me, tell me! Doesn’t it hurt?