A Poem: Poverty: A Crime?*


Opening my eyes to see,
I never had a choice to make,
What family and country to be,
If I had the power, I'd poverty rake,


I found myself in a home,
Though, happy, but not swimming in affluence,
We are managing, with little, or not, enough for a vacation in Rome,
Yet, I believe that one day, I'll have influence,


We lived in a thatched house,
Grew up in a poor home,
My Dad, tried his best on hardworks blouse,
We refused, to others,be cumbersome,


If I had the power,
I'd change the present fortune,
If I had the power,
We'll all forget all misfortunes


I hawked for food,
Sometimes, I helped the bricklayer,
We used a cloth from childhood,
Till we were grown, to enjoy riches was our prayer


So, why treat us like rags,
Like we don't exist,
Like we're carrying the criminals bag,
Why blow us with hatreds fist,


If our misfortunes was inherited,
Could we change it without prayers?
Even, after some prayers, we're still low spirited,
We just pray and keep hope alive in loves layer


If our being poor is a crime,
Do we now, vanish into space?
We believe our riches, would come with time,
Your pace of success is not our own pace.

© Daniels Pen ™✍️✍️✍️ 2021.