I walk the streets of Baghdad
　　Weather will be late, the evening sun_set_
　　Met a man years of bending the backbone of the
　　Is creeping slowly undulating road
　　Him dressed in tattered clothes, but
　　Clean, it will not be tarnished soul
　　Broad forehead wrinkles that
　　He depressed the crowd in the old miserable
　　He slowly forward, with the crowd behind
　　Foul-mouthed, old people never reply
　　Elderly people who throw the stones
　　Wounds, cracks his head encrusted
　　He stopped breathing repose, and then sad and then choked
　　Sympathizers in the bursts of weeping heart melt
　　I went up to ask: who is this system? It gave the answer:
　　He is called "truth", as strangers, come here today
　　I ran to him, give him comfort and encouragement
　　My tears of sympathy to his devoted gurgle
　　I said to him: we are in foreign land as a stranger
　　Every stranger and stranger are like brothers