I don’t do copy of Mayor Angelor
My hands, face, heart are clean like an angel
Serious, painful still I rise.
Kicking soccer ball in the dry ground.
Walking school blinkered
Never worrying about what I left behind,
But fruitful results tell me still I rise
Primary, secondary, tertiary Still I rise.
My poor background,
Make both the poor and rich to want me around
While all don’t mix pleasure with pressure
I need to find new treasures.