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Francis Apr 2018
Roaming
In the dark continent
Where the sun shone brightly
And the grass withers too
Even on the ground so dark and loamy

I met her dressed
Clad in fur with a spice of myrrh
She stood a feet of four, or more
With an enticing smile that beckons to all
And eyes that gazed effects past Medusa

Her seductive touch
Seemed to stretch across all town and rank
Leaving a scar on all that touched
And yet the taste of her lips
Stood the desires of all men alike

She is the good and the bad
Pushing you to the tidings of religiosity
Budding your hands with a tedious tidy
Or lest, a dubious mind
This black land stands a stretch of Medusa's lair

Her fangs dripped bleed, profusely
Of the bloods of the hungry and skinny
But she seemed to have bitten deeper
To the marrows of cognition and behaviour too
Yarding each dream and act to her myopic skirt

A loud soliloquy sang her heart
These lads have been faithful in our relationship
Romantically caressing me to such blossom
With their burning desire to ditch me
Quenched by a wait upon a Messiah

For to love another over me,
They have to quit in their heads and hearts alike
Day after day, precept upon precept
Bask under the sun, fruitfully, not tirelessly
And keep her close for I am never too far

As I, Poverty,
Is enticingly sweet
And what is sweet, can be Eden's apple
So I stand behind the door
Till the day you shall want another bite of me

For I am not just your fall, but your burial too
                    


Written by : Royal Ethiopia
                       NII Mants3
                       The Esteemed Vatican
                      
About poverty especially in the african context. Where the woman persona is poverty and a dialogue between poverty and an observant stranger
Seazy Inkwell Sep 2017
The city spearheads the futures we sincerely sold,
As it pluckers your pennies and your coins of gold.

I felt poor amid the auras of their fearsome metals,
Cowering in the clothes of our daily struggles.

I am destitute enough
To bleach out the interests of my cards,
To shatter your savings for a disabled future,
To rummage the stock markets for apertures.

Yet within you exhales tentacles of the color Yellow.

Yellow as in,
The scattered stars that scorch the injured sky,
The mellowing voices of neon artificial lights,
The apex of fire alight in frostbitten nights,
And the yolk of hope my cheers rely.

So while you chase the sun
with your copper-clad hands,
remember but this:

all that glitters is not gold,
It’s the color Yellow in these eyes I behold.
Salmabanu Hatim Apr 2018
Loneliness is an acid,
That eats the threads of your sanity,
Ushering a tidal wave of depressession.

Loneliness is extreme poverty,
Leaves you mighty
Bereft of happiness,
Bereft of  relationship,
Bereft of love.

Loneliness is like a delicious piece of cake,
Lying forlorn in the fridge,
Which no one desires,
Soon to stale,
Thrown away, unwanted.

Loneliness is a chasm of emptiness,
That devalues your self worth.

Loneliness is having a seat in a corner,
With fake smiles,
A lonely heart,
And an empty feeling that comes from within.
Andrew R Mar 2018
empty bench
adversity you know
do you?
10 million truths
your truths?
their truths?
creates a silence

how does poverty influence,
a child’s laugh
Ankit Bhardwaj Mar 2018
I live in a nation where the cow is worshipped,
and there is no king regnant,
but it’s funny, how the cow feast on crap,
and the farmer becomes a peasant.

I live in a nation of aye men,
who say aye to a baloney,
of media which protects the cow,
but let the peasant starve slowly.

I watch daily, the television debates,
where logic is razored by bigotry,
and no talks about the peasant,
gagged into silence by the authority.

I witness a bathtub getting sensationalized
when a mid-aged celebrity died,
the debt he’d laden of the dried crop,
no rain never did the sky cry.

He later worked as an indentured laborer,
for a landlord who drinks the cow’s ****,
as a saffroned monk says it’s healthy,
way to the eternal bliss.

A student who sloganed for freedom
from the maw of poverty.
My media says he is a traitor,
and so is the entire university.

At least, let’s agree to disagree,
that is essential to a republic,
let freedom of speech not be seldom,
and never shall it cease to exist.

The peasant must die soon,
and no more shall he crouch in dread,
may someday he incarnate as a cow,
roams free on the city streets, and feast on free bread.
Ankit Bhardwaj Mar 2018
Today, I met the son of a rag picker.

working at a landfill talks about a Biogas tomb,
but does not know that he sits on a methane bomb.

Talks about the suffering of animals, while he suffers from toxins,
redeems every moment of his life for indefinite sins.

Shoves through the rotten corpses and befriends the scavengers,
he wears a stained Spencer and soiled wayfarers.

His eyes are jaundiced, given the stench,
climbs the dirt, while his body starves but his hands are hench.

He looks curiously at my white glowing skin,
laughs at my soft palms throbbing on a dustbin.

He burns the crap, and high goes the flame,
snuffs out his little life, with this every day precarious game.

He bathes in sewer and eats near the crap,
he talks of the other day when he fell off the fill and his leg got snapped.

He is sliced at places and stabbed for stealing ***,
he earns his bread while others of his age mug a shot.

Authorities for his welfare complain about the aroma,
he worships this place as his life’s dogma.

Someday I wish may he smell the green grass,
wear a uniform and attend the chemistry class.

Prejudice he may, for the upcoming generations,
who spend a summer day carrying out these gnarly operations.

May fair go his skin and clean run his blood,
he is the saving grace, my new stench bud.
060 Mar 2018
Pearly white against a black backdrop.
Glossy cars on broken tar.
You're laughing away, children at play.
You wish your rent costed as little as your drink.

But you're still
smiling.

As the big man files out a grand,
You drop a bills underhand.
Your hype phone rings
Your mother is calling.
Saying that if you're done pretending
Look around at what you should be mending.
SangAndTranen Mar 2018
Go to sleep, it’s past midnight.
And watch your nightmares come to life.
It’s a sick freak show,
Heck we should know,
Mother get me a knife.

This house smells of stale liquor.
The poison blood, it runs deeper.
Take my hand,
It’s so cold,
And soon will be colder and stiffer.

I watch the bruises bloom and fade.
But the shame – it will never change.
I’m always at war,
Face to the floor,
Father, this is what you made.

Drag me down and yank me under.
It feels like home in a whirl of thunder.
Will the sun shine?
Will you reach me in time?
Or back to misery plunder.

Vicious circle, round and round.
Get up, slammed down, get up, down.
I’ll hide amidst torture,
As least it’s familiar,
And I promise not to make a sound.

I see the needle, the stumble in your step.
Eyes roll back, warmth up your neck.
We are all insecure,
How can you be sure?
You’ll die if you overstep.

Put me in a blinding daze,
I don’t want to feel the pain.
Yes, I am running,
Coward? Maybe.
I tried to burn a flame.

I’m not made of china, I don’t easily break.
I am purely liquified so don’t make that mistake.
I won’t hold together,
Unless you cage me in,
Come and get me Lucifer, how much more can I take in?
So dark, as always.
Ben Meraki Mar 2018
Ay!
We grew up on the block.
Torn clothes, holed shoes, no socks.
Young boys tryna make it to the top.
On the corner selling flake and pushing rock.

Each morning another body drops.
Street soldiers; battle never stops.
No warning; raided by the cops.
Little sister screaming in her cot.

Life goes on. Get over the shock.
Loose lips get silenced by the glock.
Ain't no-one speaking on the dock.
Need green so we hustle round the clock.

Quick raid but we didn't get a lot.
Hear voices tellin' us to stop.
Look back, see my brother gettin' shot.
No choices. This is all we got.

-
We grew up on the block.
-

Now as our brothers lay dead,
as the world burns around us
just like my father said
and the fighting surrounds us.
We cover our heads
from the cops as they pound us.
But unbroken, we swear
that we'll never back down.
We will not live in fear.
We shall never be bound.
We're the kingmakers here.
We're still running this town!
So whilst we shed a tear
for the ones in the ground,
we'll make the rivers run red
and the bullets rain down.

-

But as we lie here tonight
still sleeping on the floor
I just can't help but think that
there must be something more.
You ask if Mummy's come home...
just bailffs at the door.
Little sister I'll protect you.
You're the one thing I adore.
You can't be living like this.
You're just a little girl,
I swear I'll find a way out.
I'll build a whole new world
where you can be anything.
You'll be incredible!
We'll make our mark in history.
We'll be indelible.

- - -

But right now I gotta go.
Don't let anybody in.
Got a hook-up for the blow
and another little thing:
We got raided at the grow.
They think Micky's gonna sing.
So we're putting on a show
and we're taking care of him.
-
They got him in the van
but it's gonna be OK
Uncle Sammy's got a plan.
They ain't gonna get away.
Gonna light the ****** up.
Muthafuckers better pray!
Ain't nobody going down.
He won't see another day.

- - -

So little sister don't you fear.
Not long til I'll be here.
I know you're hungry baby.
I hear you loud and clear.
I'm always right beside you
even when you think I'm not.
I'll always come back for you
baby you're all I've got

-
cos we grew up on the block.
-

Hey little sister can you hear me?
Oh baby, please don't cry.
You know it hurts me so much
to see tears in your eyes.
I know you can't forgive me
but I swear I didn't lie.
I was gonna change things for you,
build us a brand new life.

I never saw it coming,
thought Luther had my back.
I turned and saw him running
before the world turned black.
I'm glad you got some money.
I knew you'd find my stack.
You know it's kinda funny...
it says 'Brother' on my plaque.

-

Cos that's a joke, right?
It should say 'Failure' or something.
It's up in smoke.
Life's ****** up for you, I bailed on you.

Running with those guys was stupid.
I should've stayed home with you kid.
Now you're grown up and your new kid
cries cos there's still no food!
-
It's all my fault. I'm sorry.
I know that doesn't help.
Words can't buy clothes for Lori
or put food on the shelf.

I wish I'd held you longer
before I went away.
It might have made you stronger
to fight another day.
-
You tried to stand on your feet.
Tried to pay your own way.
Working two jobs with no sleep.
I'm so proud of you!

Hey, don't be so ******* yourself
cos you got back in the game.
You were born into this hell.
You didn't cause all this pain.
-
I loved you so much baby
since I stood by your cot.
I'm still right here beside you
even though you think I'm not.

I wish that we could just find
a way to turn back the clock
but still the cycle continues...

cos we grew up on the block.

/ /
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