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To poetry,
poor writing it,
rich in culture
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M-xGFbW6A04
chitragupta Oct 7
The man
The untidy one
Hunger his mistress
She likes to watch him suffer, lament
Till he drops at the feet of Mother Pavement.

The wife
Fed up by life
For there's nothing else to feed her
There is no lamp in the city
that can lighten up her Diwali

The child
All bone and skin
clutching on to the alphabet
His coos of learning A, B, C
Drowned by the cacophony of G, D, P
my dickensian observations, with a pinch of satire.
A poor room homed me in the childhood
With cold stone walls and a leaky stove;
Some days were spent under cover
With a hoody, a hat and pair of glove.


Nathless, there was no poverty of food;
My mother managed well the stew
With rice, potatoes and some carrots,
Her care cook'd a lot out of few.


Beside, the careless neighbours stood
With a lil bowl of sugar and eggs,
Trading on a sip of juice for gossips,
Paying the fee of the one who begs.


Way-outie, we were never even gloomy;
Despite the days of water and light off,
Mother managed the waves of hardship
Like the sailor's star never falling off.


Is a grace of God, the unfortunate broom
In which I scarce tasted thick happiness?
Sugar tastes sour after golden honey;
For rich, my treasure was unhappiness.


I enjoyed the oxford blue sky of the moon
While mom sweeped the streets for stubs,
I jumped up moon-high finding pennies
Far away the parties' hubhubs.


What a pity I feel now, for all the poor
Who had money, goods and no misery;
They know nothing what is life like,
But for true rich, life itself is glittery.
04.03.2018
Mother slept on a floor for years
with thin, withering sponge as a barrier between her and cheap carpet
in a room of no purpose
and yellowing walls.
Her harsh streams of smoke
comfort the child,
focused wildly on used coloring books
and certain this is Mother's preference.
Haylin Sep 24
We have many ideas,
but we do not seem to have idealists anymore.

We have droves of problem solvers,
but we do not seem to have solutions anymore.

We have endless media discourse,
but we do not seem to have dialogue anymore.

We have unrestrained capitalism,
but we do not seem to have money anymore.

We have innumerable drugs,
but we do not seem to have treatment anymore.

We have scores of Baby Boomers,
but we do not seem to have elders anymore.

We have unlimited vacation days,
but we do not seem to have days off anymore.

We have incalculable amounts of information,
but we do not seem to have facts anymore.

We have regular, established elections,
but we do not seem to have elected officials anymore.

We have America,
but we do not seem to have a nation anymore
Hafza Awan Sep 19
an old man,
with messy hair and a wrinkled face
leaning shoulders and curved back
waking up from the drenched ground
folding his scruffy blanket looking around
a new day with hope in his dreamy eyes
took a shovel on his flimsy shoulders
and sat by the roadside
awaiting a clientele
to earn his bread
Charybdis Sep 3
Nihilism crawled into me
At first slippery and silently
Charismatic
This lack of empathy

Maybe it first saw me when I was thirteen
Burning my hands to make dishes clean
An angry father talking family
No gas no groceries just soap and steam

“I’m going to beat you” my father said
There’d been a dog In the coup though no chickens dead
My brother weeped and clutched his head
My hands sticky with feathers ripped and red
Em MacKenzie Aug 20
I’m breaking down along with our economy
and all around they only want more from me.
The end of my rope but I’ve been tethering,
searching out hope but it’s straining and weathering.
Who cares? There’s nothing good to find,
the never ending stairs within my mind,
I’ve kept going, without knowing,
and there’s no result showing.

If you ask me what I’ve wanted the most,
it’s to destroy this parasite; I’m not much of a host.
I’m just waiting, debating
and operating almost like a robot.
I walk alone, I have no home.

I think I’ll crash if I continue going at this rate,
or maybe just break down; it’s still up for debate.
It seems like everyone in the world is ******* me
except for the select few who I wouldn’t mind *******.
Wouldn’t it be exciting for our system to start igniting?
But you know we’d foot the bill
‘cause we’re paying them still.
They crave our money and vote but don’t care to hear us speak,
so my sincerest thanks for letting me work to barely eat.

If you ask me what I’ve wanted the most,
it’s to have an outside life; this routine’s made me a ghost.
It’s been draining, to be maintaining
this training to become a robot.

If you were to ask what our Country needed the most,
it’s lower taxes and more production from East to West coast.
We’re all slaving, and behaving
for laboursaving just like a robot.
I’m not alone, I notice each clone.
Nigdaw Aug 11
A train to the big city
Where the pavements are of gold
A job, a life, a future

A cardboard box in no-man’s land.

Why do they come? Refugees
From their own poverty
Here to share in ours.

There’s a boy in oblivion over there
A needle in his arm
And **** in his hair;
Sold to the dream of another world
Not here.

Some walk the streets you know
Teenagers, offering their bodies
Hoping to save their souls;
Pawning dignity for a take-away,
**** in sin city
For the rich and ***.

There is no gold here, you fools
Under the same sky you sleep
On the same wish you weep
Crying yourselves to sleep
Counting lambs to the slaughter.
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