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She is a maid
She takes care of  household
Is she a daughter?
No, don't be archaic
She is a domestic help
She is someone else's daughter
Poverty made her depart
From her parents so far away
Supporting her and her parents' life
She prepares and serves food
Cleans utensils and the floors
Washes and irons clothes
She is paid for all these
What's the great deal?
Have millions of dollars in coffers
Physical service your own won't offer
They can send you more dollars
Physical love and care
They don't have time
Who says God doesn't do miracles
Isn't it a miracle?
He bestowed millions with poverty
So that they care for you and serve you
Maid is one of them
Someone else's daughter
Can you imagine your own daughter in her position?
Prickling chill goes down the spine!
Treat your maid like your daughter
She is someone's daughter
Far away from her parents
Love and care for her
She would serve you better and better!
Dominique Sep 6
Warmth drools like a baby
On the grime grey rooftops
Liberalism spawned dystopian blocks
The windows are never washed there
It's the rain that reveals their guts

On your bus stop murders and attacks
Rife on the Piccadilly line, the hum
Of melted Smirnoff bottle angels lays
A drunken lesbian kiss of delight
Party people live for the moment

When you step outside in the morning
To work for callus marks and gas, the trees
That line your route bob thick punk manes
In time to the beat of the rocking trains
They know what The Clash is about

And when you come back from a getaway
Seaside trip with sand in all your cracks
A little salt on your lips, an assault in the paper
You wallow in the polluted city allure
Like you're breathing in god's ****** incense

There it lies, the roll-up skyline
That would make any two-shoed god give in
To railway bridge peer pressure on his chest
At 4 am with deodorant blowtorches spinning
Leaving entrails of delight in the filthy half-blackness

It's a privilege to live in for sure.
every city looks the same
but ours, my love, is better
Nalinee Sep 6
फटे होंठ की लकीरें
या कपड़ों में पैबंद ज़्यादा थे?
फिर भी, लाल बत्ती सी चमक आंखों में थी।

बोली में तेज़ी, " ख़रीद लो मैडम "
या मजबूरी ज़्यादा थी?
फ़िर भी, बेचने की कला बड़ी अद्भुत थी।

बेरंग दिनों को बदलने की कोशिश थी,
सामने रंगीन पर्दे सी ज़िन्दगी थी,
पर टिकट उसके लिए, महंगी थी।
Poverty never dies in time
Neither does it want to
It grows faster than sun rays
Faster than fun times
Believe me as I say
I’ve seen it in the day
Clear without fade
Frail with more hate
Poverty never dies
For wealth has always stayed in its prime
And power made it, the one
So poverty will never die
And wealth will never cry
Sirad Jul 30
I imagine you at my age
Younger, stronger and ambitious
You literally cracked your spine
Once healed, cracked again by soil foreign  
That bore you no fruit
But fruit were born from the womb
Of the love of your life

I imagine you had it all
But poverty was placed between your eyes
Tried to go back home
Catch the dream you once had
Build a home your children could inherit
But all they wanted, was to snuggle in your strength
Listen to a strong heartbeat
Reading them nursery rhymes

Tears begin to flood my vision
When I realise, your life
Is mirror to my own
I inherited recycled dreams and hope
From a land that bore me no fruit
When all I wanted, was to inherit extra time with you
Snuggle in your strength
And listen to lullabies
Born to a *******,
He was her worst nightmare.
He had rendered her out of shape,
and thus out of business.

He was thrown into the streets to look for work
When other kids happily went to school.
Soon his repertoire boasted of a variety of jobs...
Working, begging, stealing- he'd done it all.

The dark, filthy streets were his home,
Where he was abused and bullied
by those who were his brothers in fate.
He was a prisoner of his own childhood.

Sleep was his escape,
Where he was a king of a distant land.
The sun shone on his face,
Jolting her back to him to his grim reality.

He dreamt of escaping this labyrinth of pain and suffering.
But what did the future hold for him?

Perhaps his story would have a happy end
And he would be a lotus in a ***** pond,
A diamond mined from a coal mine,
A messiah to others like him.

Or perhaps his life would be devoid of any happiness,
And he would become a thief, a dacoit, a gangster,
Like a maggot, which is born on the rotting,
Lives and feeds on it, only to die there.
Royce Jul 22
There is no ledge,
Set to face me on some great day,
In which I leap to glory's bloom
And touch the face of love,
For here I am, minute to minute,
     Unsure of where to look
While some clerk fills out papers
Asking me where I got the 3 dollars
Idle in my bank account
And if I'm sure I didn't steal it.

No great heist set to sail my heaven
Or ****** nursing me whiskey
On a miserable morning as of yet;
     Improving on what's been done,
Resurrecting Byron for a duel,
Then realizing my mistake,
     Apologies at dawn,
Flattery for one of his lines,
Then asking if he would buy me a drink,
As it would be the civilized thing to do.
Francie Lynch Sep 11
I was tricked into believing
This is my world.
There are too many signs
That can't be ignored.
It's certainly not my old world.
No, not my world at all.
Not the one I inherited,
And not the world I'll leave you.
And I'm so sorry for the mess we're in.
I'm sorry I'm made of carbon,
I'm changing,
I could be a diamond still.
Tip of the hat to the Wicked Witch of the West for the title.
K E Cummins Jul 9
To be poor is to go back in time
I have eaten dandelions out of the backyard
And contemplated the guillotine
The revolution of a coin
Skittering to a stop.
There you go, bringing class into it again!
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