do you see them there?
heads bowed
heavy with a past
they cannot stomach
do you seem them there?
an aura of gray seems to follow them,
and people step away when they pass
frightened perhaps,
that the misfortune of the less fortunate
will cling to their
expensive coats
and warm mittens
do you see them there?
they do not sing the anthem
or pledge their allegiance
they have no love
for a country that does not love them
they will not lose what is left of their dignity
attempting to run after
a world that has left them in the dust
they are the essence of dust
unclean specks
unimportant to the
                                     big
the
                                     loud
the ones who run the show
they are far from running the show
do you see them there?
breaths catching in the cold air
an unadulterated bitter anger
at those above them
for placing themselves above them
do you see them there?
because sometimes they get
     l
         o
              s
                   t

"Young Mexico Girl"


people singing stars
the beauty of it all
we breath day and night
dreaming god living devil
everything in between
young mexico girl poor hable inglais
smiling at five fifty an hour twelve hours
home to six sisters two brothers mom
dad comes and goes
sleeping on the sofa must have eyelids in her ears
four rooms one closet chicken grease floor
feeding an army of roaches
warm water leaky toilet **** hole
so much better than the last place
wake up feed the babies sugar and milk
chasem into big orange bus on the outside
black brown yellow white on the inside
to the mall and sweep mop mix open poor stir fry
shake bake lift dump push shove wipe clean break eat
do it again young mexico girl
smiling

It feels like friends smiling in our home
To love someone so much
Who finds her shelter in my arms
No matter how deep the dust in our eyes
Or the fear in our minds
The future is never enough to believe
But a moment of love is forever

We were not born fighting
But we know how life can be for others
We try to think about the life in our hands
It’s hard not to think of ourselves
My children tell me they love me
The older they get the more they know
A simple man makes life simple for them

We try not to be afraid
How much worse can life be
We will not let it divide our home
Who could love like those who survive
People look down on us while they play
Our hands carry the shame they assume
But we built our cribs with those hands

We don’t care which side of the line we live
Mother Mary carried her baby across
They tell us how we should live our lives
The love of our people is too strong for them
We don’t know why they hate us
The poor never write the history books
They can only pray for mercy on their souls

I was drunk,
Lying on the Delhi Street,conked,
I was thrown out of a bar nearby,
I can't remember why?
I woke with a start,
I found myself in a cart,
Pulled by a shabbily dressed man
With a tattered turban,
And a ragged **** cloth round his waist.
Was he here to collect waste?
Not to ask I thought best.
I threatened him to stop,
Or I would call the cop.
Immediately he put the cart down,
He thought I was gone!
We had a long talk,
His sorry tale made me baulk,
Made me sober.
He was a corpse collector,
With a six year old daughter.
For a few miserly rupees,
He collected corpses,
From the alleys and streets,
And performed their last rites.
The corpses were mostly of those who died of cold,
Their stories untold.
The man had no home,
Come rain,cold or storm,
They lived under an old building's  dome.
The little girl with him tagged along,
Looked at life as a song,
Never a complaint,
The little grubby saint.
On cold frosty days,
To stay warm,the only way,
The corpses became the child's blanket,
She cuddled amongst them as if in a basket.
Tears welled up in my eyes,
This was reality, not lies,
The strings of my heart broke,
From a lifetime of dreams I woke,
I have to turn the hands of the clock,
The Almighty had cleared my vision,
I was sent here for a reason.
I made up my mind,
Gambling and drinking I left behind.
I adopted the pair,
On the same street,I opened a Shelter,
For the needy and underprevileged,
And a Home for the aged.
In life I found my mettle
With wife and children I am settled.
I also work with other NGO's
For the betterment of people's lives.

In this city of dreams
Of Bright lights and pulsating sidewalks,
Splendid wheels and shining glass,
He walks by, oblivious to it all.

His eyes lost in the ground
Ever searching......
For that crumpled bottle to fill his bag
His hungry and poor gunny bag.

His shirt, a patchwork of squalor, filth and lost dreams
Callused hands and wind swept hair
Feet bare, cracked and withered
Hollow eyes shining with ravenous hunger

No dreams for him though
Perhaps a cup of tea and a stale bun for the day.
No hopes for tomorrow
For he is Atlas, born to carry the weight of the privileged

In this city of dreams
Of love, enlightenment and empowerment.
He is,
The Voiceless

The monk sat in his temple
Swathed in his saffron robe
While incense wafted through the air
Somewhere a gong could be heard, in the distance
Pristine, austere, noble
With all the trappings of wisdom
With the aura of enlightenment
With the odor of sanctity
With the nobility of humility
And the pilgrim asked him, are you poor?
“No,” said the monk
“For I desire nothing,
Cling to nothing
Long for nothing,
And so I am free,
Even rich
As though I possessed
The whole world.”

Francis sat in the dust
Covered in a beggar’s rags
While the scent of sewage lingered near
The coughing of the poor was heard, all round
*****, abject, neglected
With all the trappings of homelessness
With the aura of his friends, the sick
With the odor of his brothers, the abandoned
Having forsaken nobility for humility
And the pilgrim asked him, are you poor?
“No,” smiled Francis
“For I have found Him whom I desire,
I have cleaved fast to Him,
I am filled by Him,
And so I am free,
Even rich
For I do not need the world
When I embrace its Master.”

with regard to those who believe time has let us down,
it is not our fault that we expected more in life than the
simple basic pay that we force ourselves to earn,
that only a minimal few get more than £4 an hour
and earn a million in a day
they take and they take and we give our all,
to a job that will eventually fire us, retire us and
dig our grave, all to provide ourselves
with a mortgage and a tax paying wage
that some of us can never afford,
and we **** ourselves because of debt and
we stare at our kids with resentment because
they’re
dream killers
but they’re a social norm, and if you don’t fit in
you don’t make it
social darwinism,
liberalism
conservatism,
socialists, Marxists, communists,
left wing advocates,
the ones the poor ‘take advantage’ of because
we believe people deserve the best chance in life,
and unless you’re incredibly lucky and
you’re born at the top
you are bred with that chance,
and the rest of us are at the bottom because
meritocracy
doesn’t
exist
it never will because those  
who believe they’re better,
the elite-born
who’re at the top come from the brightest schools,
the most expensive and they gave them
confidence and money
something we don’t own being in the northern region of a
divided country
and your prime minister killed our jobs and i find it funny that
people still vote for your two faced, pragmatic party
you haven’t been remotely interested in us since
Disraeli, but even he tried to help us selfishly
the working class,
the proletariat
is divided because of the lies you feed us
through the media,
you honestly think you’re superior
and you are
but you ignore poverty and you accept inequality
and society isn’t like a human body
because if it worked
this wouldn’t exist, this divided society that you
don’t even acknowledge because why would you
when you have enough money and power
and overall glory that you have been smothered in
your whole life whereas we have
seen what your policies achieve
and you try to buy us off with basic low wages and
give starving people benefits which take ages
to come through
and you don’t care when they die because
they weren’t employed,
didn’t belong in this capitalist economy,
which you gladly enjoy,
while we sit at the bottom in absolute despair,
that I don’t even know if we’re really aware
of the exploitation we are put through every single day
all to make enough money to pay
for the taxes you evade,
and i wish for the whole world there was something i could do,
because if i had any money,
i would share it with you.

crimson blood
flowing through the gutter
white cloth
folded in two
half-covered body
bruised eye
swollen lip
broken rib
missing tooth
pale skin
strands of hair
scattered on the floor
scent of flesh
lingers in thin air
silence.

droplets of water
falling from the patched roof
little creatures
squealing, screeching
over a piece of bread
ragged children
slumped on the corner
they call her mother
tired eyes
fixed on the walls
in deep thought
tears unuttered
silence.

red carpet
laid along the aisle
floral-filled rows
people dressed in pastel
empty the halls
one by one
man in suit and tie
golden ring held in hand
a letter on the other
words scrambled on sheets of paper
but all he could see is “Sorry.”
church doors shut
silence.

pen and paper
half-empty cup
ten pages of enigma
blank spaces and question marks
staring on the floor
in search of an answer
trying to recall
a missing chapter
clock strikes nine
time is up
silence.